


Once Upon A Time

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Because Richard Madden is Prince Charming, Cinderella AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8179921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The familiar story: stepfamily mistreats boy, boy runs away, boy meets prince, boy and prince fall in love.It gets a bit more complicated, though, when you add in a princess in exile, a revolution, and a secret heritage.Or the Cinderella AU that nobody asked for.





	1. Prologue

The fall of the Southern Kingdom was not unexpected. The Western Kingdom had been slowly encroaching on the territory ruled by the Targaryen monarchs for years. The border between the two kingdoms had always been the most vulnerable, as the Great Wood did not grow between them as it did between the other borders. The Lannisters of the West and Targaryens of the South had been feuding for decades, both sides having long forgotten what sparked the bad blood to begin with.

On that fateful night, when the lions crept into the South to destroy the dragonkings, everyone agreed that the feud decisively ended with the end of the Targaryen line.

Rumor held, though, that one princess escaped. Five-year-old Daenerys Targaryen, who fled into the Great Wood and was said to be sheltered and nurtured by its old, impenetrable magic.

This is not her story.

This is the story of the other Targaryen child who escaped the purge of the Lannisters.

It was a stroke of luck, really, that led to Lyanna Stark, second wife to the Crown Prince Rhaegar, and her young son not being in the castle that night. Little attention had been paid to the Stark princess’ quiet nuptials to Rhaegar Targaryen after his first wife had died in childbirth. Most assumed that the young prince had taken a second wife solely to provide a mother’s love to his two children. Some even forgot that she had also given Rhaegar a son not long after they wed.

With all the chaos and death in Summerhall that night, from the king himself to the lowliest servant, it wasn’t hard for two missing corpses to be overlooked.

Lyanna Stark had held her son’s hand tightly as Summerhall burned on the horizon, slinking back into the sheltering branches of the godswood that grew a few miles outside the outer walls of the castle. 

To the lords of the other realms, the Northern traditions of worshiping the old gods of the woods was seen as eccentric and weird, but none dared raze the woods that grew throughout the continent. Most were small, barely more than copses. The Northerners said that the entire continent used to be nothing but woods, with the Great Wood being the remnants of this all-encompassing forest and the heart of the continent. The smaller woods dotting the remaining lands were sacred to worshipers of the old gods, and had led to them being called “godswoods.”

Most Southerners, Easterners, and Westerners thought it was nonsense, but all had enough fear of the Great Wood and respect for the unknown to leave the woods well-enough alone.

Despite living in the South, Lyanna was of the North, and took her young son to worship in the godswood with her whenever the moon was full.

It just so happened that the moon was full the night the West struck.

As she watched her husband’s home pillaged and her good family killed, Lyanna had a decision to make. With the Southern Kingdom fallen to the West, there were only two paths open to her. She could either go North or East.

Her brother was King in the North, and would welcome her and her son with open arms to Winterfell. Ned, she knew, had a son around Jon’s age, and she knew Jon would thrive in the North with his Stark kin.

The West was strong, though, with many men and large coffers of gold, and winter was raging in the North. The last winter had lasted eight years, and there was no telling how long this one would last. The Northern Kingdom had to preserve their resources, and if Lyanna fled to her childhood home, it would be besieged by the Lannisters, who would never suffer a Targaryen heir to be safely fostered in the North.

With a heavy heart, she had turned her feet towards the Eastern Kingdom.

There was nothing for her in the East. The kingdom was ruled by the Tyrells of Highgarden, but, though she did not know them well, she could no more endanger them than she could her family in the North. It was safer for everyone, she decided, if she and Jon lived out an anonymous life in the foothills of the Red Mountains on the edge of the Great Wood.

And so it was that Lyanna Snow and her son Jon settled down in the shadow of Horn Hill, the ancestral seat of House Tarly of the East. Great beauty that she was, it was not long before Lyanna caught the eye of the Lord of Horn Hill himself.

Lord Randyll Tarly was a man of great repute who had unfortunately lost his lady wife to a fever a few years before. He had three children of his own, his two sons older than Jon while his young daughter a couple of years younger. He was a commander in the Tyrells’ army, and had gained a fearsome reputation in battle.

Lyanna had not wanted to remarry, but had to put Jon’s needs before her own. Jon deserved the education and opportunities that came with being a lord’s son. She had taken the title of prince away from him. She could not take more.

Lyanna would die not a year after she wed Lord Randyll, due to complications from a miscarriage. She would never know how terrible the man she had married was, nor would she ever see her son grow into a man, fall in love, and sacrifice everything for that love.

She would never learn how her brother mourned for her and her child. Never know that King Eddard would have gladly gone to war to defend them.

Jon cried for days after they told him of her death, not even eight-years-old and utterly alone in the world. Even at his tender age, he knew his stepfamily was all that he had. With the death of his mother, all of his real family was gone.

Vaguely, he was aware that his mother’s family was alive and well in the North, but they did not know him. No one knew him.

He was not Jon Targaryen anymore. He was Jon Snow, now.

And Jon Snow was a nobody that no one cared about.

tbc...


	2. Chapter One

Jon sighed as he relaxed against the smooth trunk of the weirwood tree. Mid-morning was his favorite time of day. All his morning chores were done—the wood was chopped, the stables cleaned, the pigs slopped—and he was left to his own devices until after lunch, when he was needed to provide a sparring partner for Dickon. not that he was allowed to actually _win_.

He always came to the Great Wood when he had a stretch of free time. His mother used to tell him that the Great Wood was where the old gods dwelled, and that they would always look out for and guide a Stark of the North. Jon wasn’t quite sure if any of that were true, and if it _were_ , he didn’t know if the old gods would consider _him_ a _Stark_ , but being here made him feel close to his mother all the same.

The Great Wood formed the entire border of the Northern Kingdom, which is probably why the Northerners felt such an affinity with the wood. It crept down along the Red Mountains that divided the Eastern and Western Kingdoms to sweep off east as it reached what was formerly the Southern Kingdom.

He never went too far into the wood. His stepfather would be extremely angry with Jon if he had need for him and he wasn’t there. Sam or Talla, hoping to spare their stepbrother from their father’s wrath, would fetch him quickly if Lord Randyll were looking for him, but they, like most people in the Eastern Kingdom, were leery of the Great Wood and would not venture too far into it.

“Jon!” his oldest stepbrother’s voice called out, voice echoing queerly even on the edge of the wood. Jon groaned, certain he had jinxed himself with thoughts of his stepfamily, but dropped out of the tree anyway. Sam had always been good to him, so Jon didn’t think it was fair to keep him waiting. Not with how afraid his stepbrother was of the Great Wood.

The older man jumped as he dropped down next to him before peering up at the tree. “How do you do that?” Sam asked curiously, squinting up at the branches. “You’re the only one I know who can climb a weirwood.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “I’m the only one you know who willingly spends time in the Wood, and that’s the only place they grow,” he pointed out, leading him out of the trees and towards Horn Hill with sure steps.

“That’s true enough,” Sam replied pleasantly, jogging a bit to catch up. “You know,” he continued a bit reluctantly, “Father has realized that’s where you go. He doesn’t like it.”

Jon resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. He had long since realized that Randyll Tarly would never be pleased with anything he did. He was equally certain that he would never be pleased with anything _Sam_ did, but he didn’t want to dash his stepbrother’s hopes so cruelly.

“I didn’t think your father was so superstitious,” he remarked instead. “Surely he doesn’t believe the Wood is full of grumkins and snarks.”

“He doesn’t,” Sam insisted, though he glanced back warily at the trees behind them. “But there are rumors of rebels living the Wood.”

“You mean the rumors that Daenerys Targaryen holds court in the Great Wood and is plotting the downfall of the Lannisters,” Jon realized. “What does that have to do with the East?”

Truth be told, Jon hoped with his whole heart that those rumors were true. He had been barely a year older than Dany, but he still remembered how caring a child she had been. He had loved the younger girl to pieces, and the thought that she had escaped the massacre of their family and was planning on taking back her kingdom made him smile.

Their mothers had shared secret smiles when the two of them played together, and looking back Jon was sure they were not-so-secretly conspiring a betrothal between the two. He wondered how disappointed they would have been in Jon to learn that his desires did not lie with the opposite sex.

He comforted himself by remembering that his mother was of the North, where same-sex relationships were accepted and even celebrated, with marriage between two men or two women not abnormal. It was yet another thing that set the Northern Kingdom apart from the rest of the continent, but it made Jon feel better knowing that his Northern mother would accept his proclivities, even if she would have been disappointed that her and Queen Rhaella’ plans would have never come to fruition.

“If the Lannisters take the Great Wood, I doubt they’d mind coming a bit further to Horn Hill,” Sam said, answering his previous question.

“They’d probably rather go North to try and take Winterfell,” Jon said with a shrug. Perhaps he should show more concern for his unknown family, but he doubted the Lannister would ever dare attempt to take the great Northern castle. Winterfell very well fortified, and the Westerners would have to brave both the Great Wood and the Greywater Marshes to set siege to the castle. 

Even if Tywin Lannister was foolish enough to brave both, Jon didn’t think he’d be able to muster a similar foolhardy courage in enough men to succeed.

“It’d be easier to launch an attack on Winterfell from Horn Hill,” Sam pointed out, sounding so proud of the observation that Jon had to smile. Though Lord Randyll might despair of him as a soldier and commander, Sam was certainly a good enough tactician to give even his lord father if given half a chance. If only he could speak in Lord Tarly’s presence without getting flustered and stuttering.

“Only if they had the element of surprise,” Jon replied. “Winterfell would be prepared if word reached them that Horn Hill had been taken. They’d never succeed.”

“Well, I just hope Horn Hill is never taken,” Sam said, blanching at the thought. 

For Sam and Talla’s sakes, if nothing else, Jon agreed. “What does Lord Randyll want me for?” he asked, changing the subject as the keep came into view. Sam went quiet at that, giving Jon a feeling of foreboding. He stopped walking and turned to face his stepbrother.

Sam fidgeted a bit before sighing in defeat. “He might have said something about sending you away.”

It made sense, Jon knew, even if it did punch him in the gut. Not that he were particularly attached to Horn Hill, but it was the only home he had known for nearly ten years. He should have been expecting this, though. He had come of age five moon-cycles ago. Given the little love Lord Tarly bore him, he was surprised he hadn’t been sent away already. 

Jon had considered taking fate into his own hands and just leaving on his own, but Lord Randyll would likely have taken offense at that. Given how petty the man could be, Jon wouldn’t put it past him to have a warrant for his arrest issued and have him dragged back to Horn Hill. Only the Tyrells of Highgarden were more powerful than Lord Tarly in the Eastern Kingdom so none would dare question the legitimacy of the warrant.

He continued walking towards the keep, with Sam trailing sadly behind him. He wasn’t so worried about being sent away, though he would miss Sam and Talla. Lord Tarly would never want rumors that he had treated his stepson wrongly to spread, so he wouldn’t be turned out with nowhere to go and no way to make his way.

When he was finally before his stepfather, though, and heard what was to be done with him, his stomach dropped out.

“Married?!?” Jon asked incredulously. “To _Lord Bolton’s_ _son_?”

“His youngest son Ramsay, yes,” Lord Tarly said mildly. “He shares the same… _inclinations_ … as you,” he added in distaste. Jon was so confused that he didn’t have enough awareness to kick himself once again for letting slip to his stepfather that he preferred men to women.

“Lord Bolton is a Northern exile,” he protested, repulsed at the very thought. He may never have met his Stark relatives, but he wasn’t going to marry into a family that had tried to harm them. “He has no land and no power. What possible advantage would marrying me to him give you?”

“It is his Northern heritage that makes this match between two men possible,” his stepfather told him. “And if I were you, I would learn to curb my insolent questions. Once you marry Bolton’s son, you’ll be his property to do with what he wishes. I doubt he’ll be as lenient as I.”

Jon felt sick. Property. Calling it marriage was a farce. Lord Tarly was basically giving him as a bed slave to this Bolton boy, with the understanding that he could do whatever he wanted to Jon without any repercussions.

He didn’t understand _why_ though. It made no sense. Lord Randyll could send him to labor in the fields of Highgarden or the Arbor and claim half of his income as recompense for housing him these past years. Why give him away to the Boltons, who had no means to pay him anything for Jon?

“When do I leave?” he asked in defeat, hoping against hope that Ramsay Bolton would be kind.

“Your wedding will be held here in three moon-cycles,” Lord Tarly declared. “Your husband-to-be and his family wish for it to be held in the presence of his gods, under the boughs of the Great Wood.”

Jon took a steadying breath, trying to accept this turn of events and not panic. So he went somewhere else where people merely tolerated him. He could deal with that. Of course, at Horn Hill, he had Sam and Talla, but he could handle being alone.

He tried very hard not to consider the things that would be expected of him in Ramsay Bolton’s bed.

“May I be excused?” he asked, voice sounding odd to his own ears. Lord Tarly waved him off, and he left the room as quick as he could without running. Unsurprisingly, Sam and Talla were both lingering outside their father’s solar waiting for him.

He didn’t slow his pace, leaving the two Tarly siblings to hurry after him.

“Where does Lord Bolton live?” Talla asked, brow furrowed as she looked from Jon’s dour expression to Sam’s anxious one. “Will Jon be going very far away? Is that why you’re both upset?”

Jon’s heart pinged at her sad and confused tone. Talla and Sam had the same sweet disposition that Jon was sure they had inherited from their mother, but she was a bit more sheltered from the ill-temper of her father. The idea that her father might have chosen a cruel husband for him would never cross her mind.

“Last I heard, he was enjoying the hospitality of Lord Lefford at the Golden Tooth,” Sam answered, causing Jon’s head to snap towards him in shocked horror.

“Lord Bolton has been staying in the _West_?” 

As if it wasn’t bad that Lord Bolton had betrayed his mother’s family. To learn that he was apparently in league with the people who had attacked his father’s family was too much.

He took off running, not waiting for Sam to answer. He had to get away. He ignored Sam and Talla’s cries as he made his way towards the wood. He kept running as he plunged into the trees, deftly dodging the thick tree trunks and going deeper into the wood than he had ever dared before.

He came to an abrupt halt in front of a massive weirwood, with a face carved into the smooth wood, the dried red sap almost looking like blood. He knew from his mother’s stories that it was a heart tree, great weirwood trees scattered about the Great Wood which allowed the gods to see into this world.

He didn’t know what had led him to this tree or why he had stopped, but it felt right to drop to his knees among its tangled roots, hand reaching out to lean against the smooth bark and steady himself.

“Please,” he begged softly, unsure if his mother’s gods could hear him or even cared. “What do I do?”

Before any god could answer, though, a sharp voice called out from behind him. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Jon turned slowly, keeping his hands up in surrender as he caught sight of the long, skinny blade pointed dangerously close to his neck. He followed the blade up to its wielder, frowning at the small girl scowling at him.

She could not have been older than ten or eleven, with her dark hair pulled back in a simple braid. Her grey eyes studied him closely, her head tilted up in an arrogant manner.

“My name is Jon,” he answered in a calm voice. Though she wielded a blade with fierce determination, the girl before him didn’t seem like someone he should fear. Not when he had done her no wrong. “And I was praying,” he continued honestly, unashamed of his mother’s religion.

She narrowed her eyes, but stepped back and lowered her blade. He noted with approval that she didn’t sheath it. “You’re awfully close to the Eastern Kingdom to be worshipping the Northern gods.”

“My mother was of the North, but she married an Easterner,” Jon replied with a sad smile. “Being in the wood makes me feel closer to her.”

“I’ve never seen you here before,” she said, still suspicious.

He shrugged. “I’ve never been this deep before. My stepfather… well, I may have had a bit of a fight with him and ran away. I didn’t mean to go so far.” Jon winced a bit as he realized he didn’t know the way back to Horn Hill. “I may be a bit lost…”

She snorted and finally sheathed her sword, obviously deeming him not a threat. “It’s getting too dark to be wandering the wood, and even I couldn’t get you to the Eastern border before nightfall. Come on,” she said, turning and beginning to walk in the opposite direction.

Jon frowned but scrambled after her anyway, not having much of a choice, really. “Where are we going?”

“To our camp,” she replied, as if it were an obvious answer. She raised a brow at him. “I can’t let you go off on your own unarmed this deep in the wood. There are bandits and worse that are brave enough to desecrate the Great Wood with their presence. We drive them off as best we can, but they always creep back in.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Jon asked warily, feeling as if he had fallen into something that was only going to lead him to more trouble.

The girl smirked at him. “Not telling,” she answered smugly, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Besides, my brother will be very cross if I go spilling secrets to perfect strangers.”

The answer was extremely unsatisfying, but he could understand caution. “Can I at least know your name?” he asked. “You know mine.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but a voice cut her off.

“Arya!” 

Jon turned his head to see a man about his age stalking towards them, blue eyes fixed on his young companion and alight with fury. Despite the absurd circumstances, Jon could not help but notice how handsome the newcomer was.

He barely spared a look towards Jon as he focused on the girl. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been searching for you? Father allowed you to come under express orders to mind me,” he scolded. “Running off the first chance you get is _not_ minding.”

Arya rolled her eyes at her brother. “I didn’t _run off_ ,” she told him. “I was just… looking around…” she finished, a sheepish look on her face that told Jon that even _she_ didn’t buy her reasoning. “Besides, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve been in the wood. I know it better than you do.”

“There are dangerous things in the Great Wood,” her brother continued, looking more exasperated than angry. “Can you at least _try_ to stay close?”

“Fine,” she replied reluctantly. She changed the topic swiftly by nodding at Jon. “This is Jon,” she said. “I found him lost and praying at a heart tree. He’s from the East. I told him he could stay the night at our camp and that I’d guide him home tomorrow.”

Jon flushed at the idea that he needed a young girl to guide him home, and quickly protested, “There’s really no need for that. I’m sure I can find my own way.”

Arya’s brother gave him a long, almost expectant look. Finally, he shook his head. “You can’t go off now,” he told him. “You’ll only get more lost in the dark. Stay with us for the night, and we’ll get you home.”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Jon said, feeling hopelessly awkward in the presence of this handsome man. 

“It’s no bother at all,” he assured him, giving him a smile that caused an unpleasant flutter in Jon’s stomach. “Jon, is it? My name is Robb.”

tbc…


	3. Chapter Two

Robb and Arya’s camp wasn’t very far from the heart tree, and they were able to reach it before the sunset. Jon wondered just how far into the wood he had run, as he was sure that Northerners such as Robb and Arya wouldn’t have established camp so near the eastern border.

And they were Northerners, that much was obvious once Jon looked past Robb’s impossibly blue eyes and saw the Stark direwolf on the clasp of his cloak. 

They were greeted at the camp by a lean man that looked to be a few years older than Jon, with dark hair and mocking eyes. A golden kraken was embroidered on his black jerkin, which caused Jon to frown.

The kraken was the sigil of the Iron Islands, which were situated of the shores of Northern and Western Kingdoms and paid allegiance to neither. Why would he be in the same camp as Northerners bearing the Stark sigil?

It was possible, he supposed, that he had fallen in with vagabonds and renegades who had denounced their previous allegiances, but he hadn’t gotten that feeling from Robb or Arya. Besides, if that were the case, they would not still be proudly wearing the sigils.

“Did you pick up a stray?” the kraken asked, smile sharp as he gazed at Jon. “What happened to secrecy?”

“Never mind that, Theon,” Robb told him with a glare. Jon’s heart sank as he realized he was causing problems for these people. “Did our scouts pick up the trail?”

“Of course, they did,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “I told you they would. It’s not like they’re hiding from us. They _want_ our help, remember? We were just waiting for you to get back before we discussed how we proceed from here.”

Robb nodded. “Right.” He gave Arya a look. “Can you see that our guest has a place to sleep? I’ll come find you both later.”

Jon watched the two men leave, feeling a bit out of place. The camp wasn’t big, but there was at least a hundred men strewn about the trees. The ones nearest them were giving him curious looks, but he ignored them and followed Arya further into the camp.

“You can sleep near me,” she stated, leading him towards a towering weirwood. Where the roots didn’t crisscross each other, there were large patches of soft earth blanketed with fallen leaves. “I’ve got an extra blanket you can use,” Arya continued, giving him a shrug. “It’s not much, but Robb said we had to travel light so none of us have tents or anything. We didn’t even bring much food so we’re mostly living off the land.”

“You came from Winterfell, right?” Jon observed, knowing he was right at her scowl. “That’s not so far to come. I’m sure that makes traveling light easier.”

Winterfell was situated in the corner where the Great Wood met the Greywater Marshes. It actually wasn’t that far from Horn Hill. If the wood wasn’t there, it would barely be half a day’s ride. The Great Wood slowed things considerably, but if you were skilled and knew the wood well enough, and were fortunate enough not to get turned around, you could probably made the journey in a day.

Jon was sure that was why his mother had chosen Horn Hill to settle after the fall of the South. Once things had settled and winter had ended, he was sure she had meant to go to her brother in the North.

Too bad she had died before winter had come to an end.

“Where are you going?” Jon asked, pushing thoughts of his mother away. There was no use dwelling on what might have been.

“Nowhere,” Arya responded so quickly that Jon had to smile, which earned him another scowl from her. “None of your business.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry,” he said, holding his hands out in a placating gesture as he took a seat on one of the giant white roots. “But you can’t blame me for being a little curious after stumbling upon a small host of Northerners while lost in the wood. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t be.”

She gave him a grudging smile at that. “Maybe,” she conceded before leaning against a root opposite him. “So what did you fight with your father about?”

“Stepfather,” Jon corrected automatically. His father had been nothing like Lord Tarly. “And it was nothing.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Didn’t seem like nothing,” she commented. “Not with how upset you looked while you were praying.”

“Isn’t it rude to be eavesdropping on people’s prayers?” he asked, shooting her a scowl of his own. “Shouldn’t little highborn maids have better manners?”

Arya shrugged and gave him a guileless grin. “How would it be more polite to ignore something that’s obviously bothering you? You might as well tell me. I’m not going to let it go.”

“You’re a spoiled brat,” he grumbled with no heat, crossing his arm.

“Robb tells me that all the time, but he still gives me my way,” she replied in a tone that said that she knew Jon was going to as well.

He really couldn’t help but admire her audacity. He was no stranger to highborn maids of all ages, but none that he had met had ever been as forward as this girl. Not even Princess Margaery had been so willful when she had visited Horn Hill with the rest of the royal family.

Jon sighed in defeat. “Let’s just say that he has plans for my future which I don’t agree with,” he said, being as vague as he could. She wouldn’t understand if he told her that his stepfather had arranged a marriage for him. Marriage, in the ground scheme of things, wasn’t such a big deal.

It was his intended’s family and their associates that he objected to. But he couldn’t explain _that_ without explaining about his Stark and Targaryen heritage.

Besides, he wasn’t about to tell a girl aligned with House Stark that he was currently set to marry the son of a man who had betrayed her king.

“Well, what do you want to do instead?” Arya asked.

He furrowed his brow at that and frowned. He didn’t have an answer to that. He should, shouldn’t he? He had never really considered his future, though. He had spent so long dwelling on his past that he had never bothered looking forward.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Just not what _he_ wants.”

He didn’t really have a choice, though, did he? Lord Tarly’s mind was made up, and if he went back to Horn Hill, he would have to marry Ramsay Bolton. Outside of that, there would be no future for him.

But if he didn’t go back to Horn Hill, where would he go? He couldn’t stay in the Eastern Kingdom. Lord Tarly would just have him dragged back to Horn Hill. Everyone he had ever known lived in the East, though. If he didn’t stay there, where could he go?

The West and the South were out, for obvious reasons. He supposed he could go North, but what would he do if Lord Randyll asked for King Eddard’s help in apprehending him? Horn Hill and Winterfell were on semi-friendly terms because of how near they were. If Lord Tarly told his uncle that he was a dangerous criminal, the King in the North would surely believe him.

After all, as far as he was concerned, Jon was a nobody.

A nobody who didn’t belong anywhere.

“Judging by the look on your face, I’d say Arya has been terrorizing you,” Robb remarked, breaking him out of his thoughts as he sat down next to him.

Jon tried very hard to ignore the warmth he could feel radiating from the other man’s body as Arya let out an indignant protest.

“Nothing I can’t handle, my lord,” he replied.

“There’s no need for any ‘my lords,’” Robb said in distaste. “Just Robb will do. Or I’ll be oblige to address you as ‘my lord’ and cause all manner of confusion.”

“I am no lord,” Jon was quick to say, not technically lying. His blood may be royal, but he bore no land nor title.

“And why would you believe I am?” the other asked with a challenging smirk.

Jon raised a brow and swept his hand out to gesture towards the camp. “They obviously answer to you.”

“Which only means that I am their captain,” Robb replied cheekily. “That’s all that really matters out here in the wood anyway.”

“If you say so,” he conceded, not deeming it important enough to argue.

“I do say so,” he insisted before giving him an easy smile. “Now, where exactly do you wish to go tomorrow? I can have you guided there first thing in the morning.”

“I… don’t know,” Jon confessed, unable to meet those eyes and staring at the leaf-covered ground instead. “I’m not sure I want to go back to where I’ve been.”

“What about your family?” Arya asked, brow puckered in confusion.

Jon gave her a sad smile. “I don’t really have any family. They all died a long time ago.”

He didn’t include the Starks in that, but though he thought of them as family, he knew they wouldn’t know him from the stable boy. Even if he did muster the courage to go begging them for a place at Winterfell, he was sure to be turned away. With no proof of who he was, he couldn’t really expect the royal family of the North to take him in on his word alone.

Sam and Talla were probably the closest thing he had to a family, and they would surely worry if he didn’t come back. Sam would understand, though, and explain it to his sister.

He nearly jumped when a comforting hand was placed on his shoulder, and he turned his head to see Robb giving him a sympathetic look. “I am so sorry, Jon.”

He shook his head sadly and gave a small smile back. “It’s alright. It’s just… difficult to know where I belong now,” he admitted.

“Why don’t you stay with us until you figure it out?” Robb suggested kindly, ignoring the sharp look Arya sent his way. “Maybe all you need is to get away for a while.”

Jon looked between Robb’s open face to Arya’s puckered expression. “I thought whatever you were doing in the wood was some sort of big secret? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Robb smirked. “Well, as you pointed out, _I_ am in charge here,” he said smugly. “And I say you can be trusted.”

“If you’re always this trusting, you really will get in trouble one of these days,” Jon warned, even if his heart was warmed by the young captain’s acceptance.

“But not today,” Robb replied with certainty, smiling at Jon in a way that made him want to blush.

“I won’t be a burden to you,” he assured him, happy he was able to get how flustered he was out of his voice. “I know how to forage in the Great Wood for food, and I can fight passably well with a sword if need be.” Lord Tarly had seen him trained in swordplay, at least, if only to provide Dickon with a proper sparring partner. Sam, unfortunately, was rather hopeless with a sword.

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Robb said, standing and pulling Jon up as well. “Come on. Arya and I left are bedrolls over here.”

He and his sister led Jon around a large root that nearly reached Jon’s shoulder. It wrapped around and nearly met a slightly smaller root, leaving a clearing of sorts where two packs lay beside two lain-out bedrolls. Jon could see others camped out around the outside of the roots, but none had entered the siblings’ little campsite.

Arya tossed him an extra blanket from her pack as they settled down. “It should be warm enough of a night for that to keep you warm.”

Jon nodded his thanks, settling down awkwardly on the ground, trying not to crowd the siblings but also not wanting to seem as if he were shying away from them.

“You never did tell me where you were going,” he remarked as he stretched out beneath the tree branches.

“We’re going to meet up with Daenerys Targaryen,” Robb told him softly, turning to give him a serious look. “The North intends to see the South restored.”

Jon’s breath hitched at that. They were going to see Dany.

tbc…


	4. Chapter Three

“So the rumors about Dan—erys Targaryen,” Jon said, stumbling over the name and barely catching himself before calling her Dany. “They’re true?”

The thought of his aunt being alive and well and planning to take back her kingdom had kept him up all night. Sure, he had known there was a possibility, but actually having _confirmation_ sent a thrill of excitement through him.

Maybe that’s what he was meant to be doing—helping Dany. Maybe that’s why when he had prayed to the gods for answers, they had sent him Arya.

He didn’t want to press Robb or Arya for too much information about Dany. It was easy to see that the Northerners’ mission in seeking out the Targaryen princess was meant to be a secret. Jon certainly didn’t want them to think he was some sort of spy or something. 

Robb had been nothing but open and affable with him all morning, though, as they weaved their way through the wood. Arya was friendly as well, when she was around at least. She grew bored, though, with simply walking with the company, and flitted through the men and the surrounding trees for the most part. 

As he grew more comfortable around them, Jon could not hold back his curiosity any longer.

“Well that depends on the rumors you mean,” Robb answered with a mischievous smirk. “Do you mean the ones that say she’s the most beautiful woman to ever live? Or the ones that say she can’t walk through fire without being burned? Or maybe the ones that say she owns real dragons and plans to roast every Lannister alive?”

Jon snorted. He had heard _those_ fantastical rumors before. The only one that was even slightly plausible was Dany being a great beauty, because she had _always_ been a beauty, but the others were just nonsense sprouted by superstitious minds. But those weren’t the ones he wanted to know about.

“I mean the rumors that she’s been building an army in the Great Wood to take back the South,” he replied. “They say many Southern lords have secretly pledged their support. They even say that there are lords in the other kingdoms that have as well, _including_ the Western Kingdom.”

Robb raised an eyebrow at him. “You seem awfully interested for a man from the East.”

There was a question in the statement, and although there was no suspicion in Robb’s eyes, Jon knew he wasn’t asking from idle curiosity. Jon was grateful that Theon Greyjoy and Dacey Mormont, who Robb had introduced as his lieutenants, had chosen to walk further back at the flanks of the company. _They_ certainly would be suspicious of his questions.

“My father was a Southerner,” Jon told him honestly. “He died in the Lannister attack. If Daenerys Targaryen is trying to get revenge on the Lannisters, I wish her nothing but the best.”

Robb gave him a long, hard look. It took everything in Jon to hold his gaze, the intensity of it sending an inappropriate shiver up his spine. _Stop it_ , he scolded himself fiercely. _He’s deciding if he can fully trust you. Are you that starved for positive attention?_

The sad truth was that he probably was.

The Northern captain finally smiled at him and nodded, finally breaking eye contact.

“I suppose there’s no harm in telling you the rumors are true,” Robb said. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough when we reach Meereen.”

“Meereen?” he asked, having never heard of such a place.

“The settlement the Targaryen loyalists established after the fall of the South,” he explained, frowning as he concentrated on navigating the great tangle of roots that had appeared in their path. “It’s on the far southeastern edge of the Great Wood. Those of us who have pledged to aid their cause are set to gather there to set our plans in motion.”

Jon furrowed his brow in confusion, trying to keep his balance as he tread through the roots. “The southeastern edge? Then why are you going through the wood? It would have cut your travel time in half to cut through the Eastern Kingdom?”

Robb chuckled at him, hopping down from the roots to land on firm ground once more. “It’s meant to be a _secret_ meeting,” he said teasingly. “The Tyrells may support Daenerys, but many of the lords of the East have friends in the West. And though there are one or two Western lords that are Targaryen sympathizers, most are staunchly loyal to the Lannisters.”

He flushed, feeling stupid for not thinking of that. Particularly when he unfortunately had first-hand knowledge that at least _one_ powerful Eastern lord had ties with the West. He was so focused on his embarrassment that he missed his footing and slipped as he made to step off the last root.

He threw his hands out to catch himself on the ground, but all he managed to do was throw his arms around Robb’s shoulder as the captain’s arms caught him around the waist. Jon’s blush deepened as he realized how close the two now were, faces merely inches apart.

“Got you,” Robb murmured, a smile playing at his lips, obviously not perturbed by their proximity.

“You do,” Jon replied faintly, before giving himself a mental shake. “Thank you,” he said in a stronger voice, quickly getting his feet underneath him and stepping back. 

“You’re welcome,” he told him, hands lingering at Jon’s waist for a few moments before he let him go. Jon tried very hard not to read anything into the touch. The captain was just trying to ensure that he was steady on his feet.

“So why now?” he asked as they journeyed on, Jon very aware of the men at their backs and eager to move on from the moment lest they catch on to his attraction to their captain.

“Why now what?” Robb shot back, walking closer to him now that the wood was growing thicker.

“Why is Daenerys Targaryen making her move now?” he clarified, trying and failing to ignore the heat the other man’s body was producing as the walked shoulder to shoulder.

“She’s coming of age,” he answered. “We’re to witness her coronation as queen.”

“Why have they waited so long to crown her?” Jon asked in confusion. “I can understand not wanting to crown a five-year-old, but why wait until she was seventeen? There have been younger monarchs.”

Robb sighed. “Some of her supporters were hoping a male heir would come forward with a better claim,” he admitted, voice taking on a sad tone for some reason. “Don’t worry, though,” he said, giving him a reassuring smile. “They are all backing Daenerys’ claim wholeheartedly now.”

Jon forced himself to smile as he panicked inside. What if someone recognized him as Rhaegar’s son? He didn’t want to usurp Dany’s claim…

He shook the thought away. No one had seen him since he was six years old. He was a nobody now. There was absolutely no danger of him messing anything up for Dany.

“So the Tyrells are backing Daenerys?” he asked, trying to put his troubling thoughts out of his head. “Who else?”

“Not as many Eastern lords as we’d like,” Robb replied. “Most of the minor lords wish to remain neutral, but Lords Redwyne, Hightower, and Florent are prepared to declare for her. Lords Reyne and Tarbeck in the West are with us as well.”

Jon was suitably impressed at that. Even though the names were few, Daenerys had managed to garner to the support of some of the most powerful non-royal lords in the Eastern and Western Kingdoms. “And the North?”

“The entire North stands with Daenerys,” came the confident answer.

He was surprised to hear that. “Why? The North doesn’t even share a border with the Southern Kingdom.”

“Because of Princess Lyanna,” Arya answered before Robb could, hopping down from a tree to join them. “And her son, Prince Jon,” she added as an afterthought.

Robb glared at her. “What did I say about _climbing_?” he ground out.

She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t say anything about _climbing_ ,” she shot back snottily. “If you don’t want me to _climb_ , you should _say_ something.”

Jon got the distinct impression that the siblings weren’t talking about climbing, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what they _were_ talking about. Not that he was trying too hard. He was much more interested in what Arya had been saying.

“What about Princess Lyanna and her son?”

“She was King Eddard’s sister,” Robb answered, eyes still on Arya. “They were very close. He was devastated when he learned she and her son had died at the hands of the _Lannisters_.” He spat the name as if it were a curse.

“The entire North has sworn vengeance against the Lannisters in their names,” Arya added.

Jon fought off a wince at that. Though the Lannisters had committed many terrible crimes in the past, they weren’t responsible for his mother’s death. And since _he_ was very much alive, the idea that an entire kingdom was seeking vengeance against them in his name bothered Jon.

“The king has never given up hope that they survived, though,” Robb interjected, blue eyes fixed on Jon as if telling him a secret. “The bloody bodies of Prince Rhaegar, Prince Aegon, and Princess Rhaenys were proudly displayed for all to see, but no one ever reported seeing Lyanna and Jon’s bodies.”

His stomach turned at the thought that his father and half-siblings’ bodies being being displayed so grotesquely. He hadn’t known about that. He wished he didn’t now.

He remembered his father, tall with shining silver hair and laughing violet eyes as he tossed Jon in the air while his mother scolded him for not being more careful. His sister Rhaenys, nine-years old and already a beauty with her olive skin and thick, dark hair. She had scarcely looked like a Targaryen, having inherited her features from her mother’s family. She had doted on Aegon and Jon, who were only a little over a year apart in age. Aegon was the only one of them to inherit the Targaryen looks. He had practically been a clone of their father. 

For the most part, Jon tried to block out the horrible deaths they must have suffered. It pained him to know that even in death they hadn’t been given peace.

“That’s horrible,” he murmured, swallowing down his sudden grief.

“It’s why the Lannisters have to pay,” Arya muttered darkly. “Even if Lyanna and Jon _didn’t_ die in the slaughter.”

Jon cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject. “So how long until we reach Meereen?”

“Probably three weeks,” Robb said thoughtfully. “Maybe four if the weather isn’t on our side.”

“That’s a long journey,” Jon said in surprise. “Especially with how light you and your men are traveling.”

“My men are excellent hunters,” the captain replied confidently. “And the Great Wood is generous to those who respect it. Trust me, we have all the provisions we need.”

“Speaking of provisions, Dacey found you a spare bedroll,” Arya added. “It’ll keep you more comfortable at night than just having a blanket.”

Jon blinked. “That was kind of her. She didn’t have to go to the trouble.” He didn’t want anyone to go to any trouble for him.

“You’ll be glad she did when it rains,” Robb quipped. “Lying on a cold, wet blanket is never comfortable and would only make you sick.”

“Well, I’ll have to thank her all the same,” he said.

Arya snorted. “You should thank Robb. He’s the one who told her and Theon to gather as many spare supplies for you as possible,” she told him. “They’ve also gotten you a waterskin, a waterproofed cloak, a knife, and a flint. I think they made Robb’s order a competition. Dacey is winning so far.”

Jon shot a shy glance at Robb. “You didn’t have to do that. I said I wouldn’t be a burden.”

“And you’re not,” he stated firmly. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t share with you what we have. You’re one of us now.”

Jon didn’t know how to respond to that. Ten years at Horn Hill and there was not a moment where he felt like he belonged. Robb offering such a thing now, after knowing him barely a day, left him speechless.

_Gods_ , he thought as Robb smiled at him, causing his heart to flutter. _Is it possible to fall in love in a day?_

It was a ridiculous notion that he pushed away roughly. He made it a point not to look too much at Robb as they continued their march through the wood, to not let his eyes linger too long on his eyes or his jawline or, heavens-forbid, _his lips_.

He didn’t really succeed, but he did _try_.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from settling down next to Robb with his supper. And if he were sitting closer than necessary to the other man, that was only because Theon and Dacey were sitting with them, and he wasn’t sure where he stood with them. He was grateful when Arya plopped down on the other side of him, feeling more secure with the siblings on either side of him.

“So who won?” Arya asked Robb’s lieutenants curiously.

“That would be me,” Dacey declared, smirking at Theon.

The Iron Islander scowled. “Only because you managed to sweet-talk Helkon out of his spare sword.”

“Beats the knife you him from Abel,” she boasted.

“Only if he actually knows how to _use_ a sword,” Theon pointed out, swinging his head over to look at Jon. “Well, do you?”

Jon blinked as he realized they were talking about _him_. “Of course!” Dacey beamed in triumphant while Theon’s scowl just deepened. “I’m sure everything you both have gathered for me will be very useful,” he was quick to add, not wanting to be a point of contention between the two. “I’m very grateful you went to the trouble.”

Dacey waved off his gratitude while Theon just rolled his eyes, both tucking into the rabbit stew that their camp cook had made instead of making further comment on the subject.

“So what part of the East are you from, Jon?” Dacey asked a few moments later.

“Um, Horn Hill,” he answered, somewhat hesitantly. He knew it was fairly obvious that he had been raised by a noble house. He didn’t want them to guess it was House Tarly. However, considering the number of minor houses pledged to his stepfather, he decided there was little chance of them guessing the truth.

“So you weren’t raised very far from Winterfell,” Theon said, smirking as if he knew something Jon didn’t. “Arya said your mother was from the North. Was she from Winter Town? Is that why she settled so close?”

That was a little too close to the truth for Jon’s comfort. “Maybe. She never really told me,” he replied evasively, not technically lying. He quickly turned the conversation around on Theon. “What about you? What is an Iron Islander doing with a bunch of Northerners?”

“King Eddard offered my sister and I sanctuary after my uncle overthrew my father and crowned himself king,” Theon replied with a touch of bitterness in his voice. “Since Euron has formed an alliance with Tywin Lannister, we figured it was only right for us to ally ourselves with the Targaryens.”

“The Lannisters have no honor,” Dacey remarked with a look of distaste on her face. “Allying themselves with a known kinslayer,” she spat with a shake of her head.

“We already knew they had no honor,” Robb told her. “We learned that when we discovered the Boltons were in league with them.”

Jon started at the mention of his would-be husband’s family. “What did they do?”

“They thankfully didn’t _do_ anything,” Robb answered with a sigh. “It was only happenstance that led to us intercepting a raven marked with the Lannister lion on its way to Roose Bolton. They were planning on attacking Winterfell during Princess Sansa’s name-day celebration. While they were _guests_ in King Eddard’s home.”

Jon’s eyes widened at that. “That’s despicable.”

Arya snorted. “Well, the Boltons weren’t known for being nice people even before that. Their sigil is a man that’s been _skinned_ ,” she told him, voice full of horrified glee as she recounted the tales. “They say Roose Bolton drinks the blood of children. Each of his sons has different mothers because his wives _never_ live more than two years after marrying him. His oldest son’s wife gnawed her own fingers off because he kept her locked up without food for so long, and his youngest son likes to hunt his servants for sport and _eat_ them.”

“Arya,” Robb said sharply. “Some of us are trying to eat.”

Jon couldn’t eat anymore, though, and he put the half-eaten bowl of stew down. Even if half of what Arya said was exaggeration, the Boltons sounded horrible. Even if Roose Bolton didn’t drink blood and Ramsay Bolton didn’t eat human flesh, they still planned to violate guest-rights and kill his uncle and his family.

That was more than enough to make him sick to his stomach.

There was no way he could go back to Horn Hill after learning more about the family Lord Tarly meant to give him to.

tbc…


	5. Chapter Four

Sam wrung his hands nervously as he paced the length of the library. This was bad. This was very bad.

Jon was gone.

That wasn’t new, of course. He had been gone for nearly two weeks now. Sam had just thought that he would be _back_ by now. He had never considered the possibility of his stepbrother leaving for good.

He had thought Jon just needed time to himself. Gods knew that he never got that at Horn Hill, not with the chores Sam’s father kept him busy with. Sam assumed he had escaped for a little while into the Great Wood. He didn’t blame him. Sam would need an escape, too, if he were being given as a possession to known turn-cloaks like the Boltons.

So Sam, with Talla’s help, had covered for him. They made sure that all of his chores were done, making excuses to their father the few times he inquired about Jon’s absence. The hardest part was getting Dickon not to complain to their father about Jon not sparring with him, but he eventually relented with a comment that he would have to find a new opponent soon enough anyway.

When Jon didn’t come back after a week, Sam had fretted but continued on. His father hadn’t noticed so there was no reason to panic. Now that it had been two weeks, though, his father was asking questions.

So Sam believed he was fully justified in his panic now.

“We could tell Father that Jon is ill?” Tall suggested from the settee where she was watching him pace. “That might buy us more time.”

“Maybe, but what if he wants to check on him?” While Sam knew Lord Tarly wouldn’t look in on a sick Jon out of concern, but he definitely would if he suspected his stepson was feigning illness. And given the timing, he would _definitely_ suspect. “And what if Jon doesn’t come back at all? We can’t lie to Father forever. He’ll whip us raw if he finds out we’ve lied to him.”

Well, he’d whip _Sam_ raw. Not Talla. Probably not, at least. Lord Randyll doted upon his only daughter. He would most likely place all the blame on Sam, his disappointment of an heir.

Sam sighed. If he kept up the charade of Jon still being here, his father just might use this as an excuse to get rid of him entirely.

“We have to tell him Jon’s gone,” he said in defeat, collapsing onto the armchair next to Talla. “We can make it seem like he left yesterday and not two weeks ago, but if we wait any longer, Father will figure it out.”

She gave him a stricken look. “If Jon comes back, Father will kill him for running away.”

Sam really hoped that wasn’t true. Surely Jon’s betrothal would at least save him from that? 

“We don’t have a choice, Talla,” he told her, pleading with her to understand. He didn’t want to betray Jon either. “I’ll tell Father myself. You won’t have to be there.”

She gave him a mournful look but nodded. “I hope Jon is happy,” she said sadly. “And wherever he is, I hope he stays there.”

 

#

 

“I wonder,” Theon said with a smirk as he sidled up next to Robb, following the prince’s eyes to where Jon was gathering his things as the company prepared to move. “How would your royal father feel about you ogling his long lost nephew?”

Robb colored at that, ripping his eyes away from Jon to glare at Theon. “Would you keep your voice down?” he hissed. “I won’t have Jon’s identity revealed unless he _wants_ it revealed.”

The Iron Islander rolled his eyes. “His name is Jon, and he has a Northern mother, a Southern father, and just _happens_ to look exactly like that portrait of Princess Lyanna that hangs in the entrance hall of Winterfell. If any of these men are so dumb they can’t guess his identity, you should get rid of them.”

He didn’t have a good argument against that, but he glowered at Theon all the same. “He has maintained that his name is Jon Snow for two weeks. If he wants to conceal the name Jon Targaryen, I will not have his wishes ignored,” he stated firmly.

Theon looked dissatisfied at that. “And how do you think he’ll take it when he finds out you’re lying to him?”

“I’m not _lying_ to him,” Robb snapped.

“You aren’t telling him that you know who he is,” Theon pointed out, giving him an unimpressed stare. “And you aren’t telling him who _you_ are. I think he’d want to know you’re his cousin.”

“Well he’s not telling me who _he_ is either,” he argued sullenly, fighting back the guilt that surged forward at Theon’s words. “I’m not hiding anything that he isn’t.”

His lieutenant snorted. “Sure. He’s going find out eventually, you know.”

“I intend to tell him before we go back to Winterfell,” he replied defensively.

“ _If_ he goes back to Winterfell with us,” Theon corrected. “He might choose to stay with Daenerys Targaryen. She’s his family, too. Or he might decide he wants nothing to do with either of you.”

Robb hated the mocking smirk on Theon’s face. He hated that he was _right_ even more though. He looked back at Jon, who was now bickering with Arya about something, an amused smile playing on his lips.

He would never take away Jon’s choice. From the little Jon had confided in him about his stepfamily, Robb knew that the other man had been given little choice in his childhood, and the prince was loath to take his newfound freedom away from him.

He was also loathed to lose him though. Robb wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had fallen for his cousin in the short time he had known him. He didn’t know if Jon shared his attraction towards the same sex, and he didn’t dare broach the subject with him this soon, but he could be content to just be friends and cousins as long as Jon was _there_.

If Jon chose not to go North with them, Robb knew it would rip his heart out.

The thought put him in a noticeably foul mood all day. Arya walked with him for all of five minutes before growing tired of his mood and going off on her own. He frowned after her, wondering once again how he had let her talk him into convince Father to let her come.

“Is something wrong?” Jon asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Just wondering if it was a mistake to bring Arya along.”

He furrowed his brow. “Do you think things will get too dangerous for her?”

Robb sighed. “No, nothing like that,” he replied. “I will have to report back to Winterfell before any fighting starts, and if the Lannisters haven’t found Meereen yet, they aren’t likely to in the upcoming weeks. But I still worry about the trouble she could get in.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” Jon told him, giving him a soft smile, “we wouldn’t have met if it weren’t for Arya.”

“True,” he conceded, unable to stop himself from smiling back. He held Jon’s gaze, wanting to drown in those dark grey eyes forever. “For that alone, I suppose I should be grateful she found you.”

Jon finally looked away, a slight pink tinge on his cheeks that gave Robb hope. “I am glad to have been found.”

“Come back to Winterfell with us,” he blurted out, kicking himself as Jon’s head snapped up to look at him with wide eyes. “I mean, if you want, I would very much like it if you came North with us when we return,” he backpedaled, not wanting to impose his will on the other man. “You would have a place there. I would make sure of it.”

Jon gave him a playful smile. “You seem very sure of the influence you have.”

The truth was on the tip of his tongue, but Robb bit it back. He didn’t know why he was keeping his status secret. Though the plan was to conceal who he really was in Meereen, he trusted Jon to be able to keep a secret. He had managed to keep his own identity a secret, after all. It was only bad luck that the Northerners had enough clues to guess correctly.

Maybe he was just afraid that Jon would run from him if he knew who Robb really was. It might be a bit ridiculous, but the other man had never sought out his Northern relatives before. What if that was because he hadn’t _wanted_ to? 

What if Jon thought that they had abandoned him and Lyanna after the South fell? He felt stricken at the thought, but he couldn’t deny that it would be a reasonable assumption on Jon’s part. 

He couldn’t have known that Robb’s father had sent out covert search parties looking for them. Couldn’t have known how King Eddard had never given up hope, never stopped looking, never stopped _praying_.

Robb knew his father would have never dreamed of finding Jon so near to them at Horn Hill.

“Robb?” Jon said, giving him an uncertain look. “Did I say something wrong?”

He quickly shook his head. “No, sorry. Just got lost in my thoughts. And you would be welcome in Winterfell if you wanted. Trust me.”

“Maybe… I have enjoyed my time with you,” he assured him. “I just don’t want to wear out my welcome. Surely you’re sick of me by now.”

“Never,” Robb replied a little too quickly with a little too much vehemence. 

Jon stopped walking and gaped at him, disbelief and hope warring in his eyes. The look broke Robb’s heart, and he made a split-second decision, needing Jon to know how important he was to him.

Not because of who his parents were, but because of who _he_ was.

Robb glanced around, giving Dacey a meaningful look before he grabbed Jon’s hand and pulled him into the trees. He whirled around to face Jon as soon as they were far enough away.

“Robb, wha—”

He put a finger to Jon’s lips to silence him. “No, let me speak first,” he said, not wanting to lose his nerve. This was a risk, he knew, but he needed for Jon to know he was worth it. “I will understand if you do not feel the same, but I want you to know that I love you. I know we haven’t known each other long, and I did not even realize it was possible to fall in love so quickly, but I did. I do. Love you, that is,” he ended, a little lamely.

His heart was pounding in his chest as Jon stared at him, eyes giving away nothing. He had never felt so nervous in his life. Why had he thought this was a good idea? What if this drove Jon away entirely? It wasn’t even a guarantee that Jon had those sorts of inclinations towards other men, let alone towards _Robb_. Had he just ruined everything?

Robb opened his mouth as the silence stretched between them, not knowing what he was going to say but figuring he couldn’t mess things up even more, but Jon beat him to speaking.

“I love you, too,”

 

#

 

Jon couldn’t believe his ears. There was no way it could be true. Why would anyone love _him_? Why would _Robb_ love him?

He had been happy enough when the captain had promised that he would have a place at Winterfell if he wanted. Jon hadn’t really believed that Robb had wanted him around, but he had been grateful for the offer all the same. The only reason he hadn’t jumped at the opportunity was because he had grown _too_ attached to the young captain. If he went to Winterfell and Robb became distant, he didn’t know if he could take it.

Now Robb was telling him that he was _in love_ _with him_. It was a bit overwhelming.

The captain was giving him an anxious look now, and Jon realized that he had gone far too long without answering him.

“I love you, too,” he said hastily.

Robb heaved out a great sigh before huffing a laugh, stepping closer to Jon. “Good,” he murmured, bringing a hand up to his cheek. Jon let out a little gasp but otherwise held still. “That’s good.”

Jon’s eyes fell shut as Robb brought their lips together in a gentle kiss. It seemed to stretch on forever, but was really probably a few moments. When they finally broke apart, Jon felt as breathless as he would if he had just run a long distance.

“I want to come to Winterfell with you,” he admitted, feeling shy for some unfathomable reason. “I want to stay with you.”

An impossibly wide grin spread over Robb’s face as his blue eyes sparkled. Jon was amazed that _he_ had evoked such a reaction. “I want that, too.”

In a fit of daring, Jon leaned forward to capture Robb’s lips with his own once more, this time in a decidedly less gentle kiss. Robb groaned and brought his hands to Jon’s waist to pull him closer, tongue sliding deliciously against Jon’s own.

Jon wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve this, but he was _never_ letting it go.

 

#

 

“I want him _found_ ,” Lord Tarly snapped to the captain of his guard, dark eyes flashing in anger. Sam had never seen his father this angry before. “Put out the word that I will pay ten thousand gold pieces to the man who brings him back to me _alive_. He’s no good to me dead.”

Sam’s eyes widened at the bounty. He glanced over at his brother, but Dickon didn’t look surprised.

“What does he mean, Jon’s no good to him dead?” he whispered.

Dickon shot him a disdainful glance. “Are you really this stupid? Without Jon, Father’s entire plan falls through.”

“What plan?” Sam asked cluelessly. “What does Jon have to do with anything?”

“Do you even pay attention to anything Father says?” Dickon said contemptuously. “That was the deal Father made with the Boltons and the Lannisters. Jon for Highgarden and the East.”

Sam furrowed his brow as he processed that. Why would the Bolton and the Lannisters want Jon? Then it sunk in exactly what his father was planning.

Treason.

He forced himself not to fidget as he stood in his father’s hall. Things were quickly spiraling out of control, and Sam had no idea what he was going to do.

tbc…


	6. Chapter Five

If he expected any of the Northerners to have a problem with his and Robb’s newfound relationship, Jon was pleasantly disappointed. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Not when he knew Northerners were mostly accepting of same-sex relationships. He thought he was justified in being surprised at how open Robb was about their relationship, though, and how quickly the Northerners were to accept him _specifically_. 

The only change, really, was that Arya had taken to bedding down at night with Dacey instead of next to Robb and Jon. He had flushed with the implication the first night Arya had smirked at him and deliberately moved her bedroll. Nothing like _that_ had happened, of course, but Robb did move his bedroll closer to Jon’s and throw an arm over him that night.

After a few days, they had gotten more comfortable with each other, to the point where Jon thought nothing of leaning into Robb while they were eating supper with the men or wrapping his arm around him as they tangled their legs together at night.

To be honest, Jon was almost dreading making it to Meereen. Being with Robb and the Northerners felt like a dream. He was half-afraid he would have to wake up once they reached their destination.

Unfortunately, their scouts told them they would probably reach Meereen within a day or two. Despite how much he had previously wanted to see Dany and join her fight, all he could think about that night as he lay in Robb’s arms was that he’d rather just go back to Winterfell and live a quiet life with Robb.

The wood around them had all but fallen silent as the night got darker around them, but Jon knew that Robb hadn’t fallen asleep either. Something had been weighing on the captain’s mind lately. Jon hadn’t wanted to press him, but he wished there was some way he could help.

“I have something to tell you,” Robb said suddenly, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb anyone sleeping nearby.

Jon stiffened. Was he going to tell him that he didn’t want Jon anymore? Had he done something wrong? “What is it?” he prompted hesitantly.

“It’s not bad,” he was quick to assure. “Well, not really. I just need to be honest with you about something, and I really hope it doesn’t change anything between us.”

“Why would it change anything between us?” he asked, unable to think of anything Robb could possibly be hiding that could change how he felt about him.

“Because I’ve lied to you,” Robb confessed in a pained voice. “About who I really am.”

Jon lifted himself up on his elbow so that he could look Robb in the eye. Or as much as he could by the pale moonlight that could be seen through the tree branches. “What do you mean?”

Robb sighed and sat up, looking down at Jon apologetically. “Well, I haven’t so much lied to you about anything, but I haven’t told you the entire truth,” he explained. “I don’t know why I put off telling you so long. I guess I didn’t want you to see many any differently.”

“Robb, you still haven’t told me what you’re talking about,” Jon pointed out, an amused smile on his face. Seeing Robb so flustered set him oddly at ease. The captain wasn’t telling him it was over. Jon could take anything else.

“My name is Robb Stark,” he said apprehensively. “My father is Eddard Stark…”

“The King in the North,” Jon finished for him, eyes wide as he sat up fully to face him. “That would make you…”

“A Prince of Winterfell,” Robb answered. “Actually, Crown Prince of Winterfell.”

Jon wasn’t really thinking about Robb’s title, though. He was more concerned about their familial relation.

Gods, Robb was his _cousin_. It certainly didn’t change anything between them, not for him at least. Cousins married each other all the time. That wasn’t a problem. But he would eventually need to tell Robb who he really was. It wasn’t fair to him to keep it from him.

“Jon?”

He shook his head, realizing he had spaced out and worried Robb once again. “Should I start calling you ‘your highness’?” he asked with a teasing smile, wanting to assure him that nothing had changed.

Robb huffed a relieved laugh. “No. I believe Robb will do just fine.”

Jon gave him a fond look and reached out to take Robb’s hands. “Did you really think this would make me love you less?”

“Well, I did lie to you,” he pointed out, lying back down and tugging Jon down with him. Jon felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he was _still_ lying to Robb.

He should tell him. He _knew_ he should tell him. But what if Robb didn’t believe him? It _was_ pretty unbelievable. Him, a long lost prince. He hadn’t been Jon Targaryen in ten years. He was Jon Snow now. A nobody.

Besides, Jon Targaryen making a reappearance would only complicate things for Dany. He definitely didn’t want anyone to challenge her claim in _his_ name. 

He couldn’t hide who he was from Robb forever. He knew that. However, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to at least keep it to himself until _after_ they left Meereen.

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” he told him, figuring it was unfair to hold Robb hiding who he was against him when Jon was doing the exact same thing. “Are you keeping your identity secret when we reach Meereen?”

“For the most part,” Robb replied, running his hand over his back in random patterns. “We’ve kept ourselves pretty isolated in the North in recent years. No one is likely to recognize me.”

“Why the secrecy?” he asked.

“It’s amazing how honest people will be when they believe they’re talking to a lowly captain and not a prince,” he explained. “My father wants to know which of Daenerys’s allies we can trust. After what my family went through with the Lannisters and the Boltons, he has learned to be cautious.”

Jon nodded, laying his head against Robb’s chest as he contemplated that. If King Eddard was so cautious, it was probably a good thing that Jon had never attempted to escape from Horn Hill to Winterfell, no matter how much he had wanted to at times.

After a few moments of silence, a thought hit him that brought a chuckle to his lips.

“What’s so funny?” Robb asked.

“Arya’s a princess,” Jon laughed.

Robb snorted. “Yeah, hard to believe, isn’t it?”

 

#

 

Jon took the truth better than Robb had dared hoped. He had thought it was a risk telling him, but with their upcoming arrival in Meereen, he had been afraid that someone might recognize him. If Jon was going to find out, Robb wanted him to hear it from him and not anyone else.

He stepped closer to the other man as they crossed the borders of Meereen and Daenerys Targaryen’s men were suddenly all around them, escorting them into the very heart of the secret settlement.

Robb eyed them warily, misliking their silent presence. He understood Daenerys’s caution, but he thought that her intimidation methods went a step too far. They were meant to be allies. This was far from the watchful welcome his father would have advised. 

They were far from the first ones to arrive. In fact, judging by the number of banners he saw scattered about in the vapors distinct camps, they might have been among the _last_ to arrive, which, given Winterfell’s distance, made sense. Robb saw the Baratheon stag, the spear-pierced sun of House Martell, and House Arryn’s falcon. In the distant, he saw the fish of House Tully, his mother’s family.

That meant that all of the major lords of the South had sent envoys. That was good. It meant that Daenerys would have a much easier time in retaking her kingdom. _If_ the bannermen who swore allegiance to those lords stayed true, he thought darkly, remembering that Roose Bolton had once sworn allegiance to his father.

They were finally led to a clearing before the largest weirwood tree Robb had ever seen. In front of it stood a young woman with silver-blond hair in a black dress embroidered with a large red dragon that coiled around the skirt and breathed red flames when it reached her chest. There was no mistaking that this was Daenerys Targaryen.

She was flanked by two men. The tall knight in white armor Robb recognized by reputation as Ser Barristan Selmy. The other was a stranger to him. He was shorter than Selmy, though probably the same age. He had not aged as well as the knight, appearing more grizzled and worn around the edges, but his blue eyes were bright and alert.

Daenerys’s violet eyes surveyed them cooly before they paused on Jon.

Robb’s blood ran cold. While he had been concerned about someone recognizing _him_ , he hadn’t considered until now was the someone could recognize _Jon_.

If the way the soon-to-be queen’s eyes flashed before she turned her angry glare to Robb was any indication, Jon had certainly been recognized.

“Your highness,” he greeted, stepping forward slightly and giving a shallow bow. “My name is Robb Cassel,” he lied, using the name of Winterfell’s master-of-arms as he, Theon, and Dacey had agreed upon earlier. “King Eddard sends me and my men to witness your coronation and pledge the North’s support to your cause.”

“We are happy to have your support,” Daenerys said magnanimously, but her eyes were challenging. “I would speak with you privately, captain. It has been long since we have had word from the North.”

The two men on either side of him exchanged a look, obviously a private audience had not been in the plan. They, then, hadn’t recognized Jon.

Dacey stepped forward slightly. “ _Robb_.”

He glanced back at her, knowing the worry in her gaze was as much for him as her friend as it was as her prince, and gave her a nod. His eyes slid past her to Jon, whose eyes were darting between him and Daenerys anxiously. Robb shot him a reassuring smile before searching the company for his sister, frowning when he couldn’t find her.

Of course Arya would disappear at a moment like this.

Daenerys turned and, to Robb’s surprise, began climbing the tree behind her. Ser Barristan followed after her, deftly climbing despite his heavy armor. The other man gestured impatiently for Robb to approach the tree, and when he did, he was able to see a cleverly camouflaged rope ladder draped over the trunk. That explained how quickly the old knight had been able to climb.

Wasting no time, Robb claimed up as well, aware of Daenerys’s man following after him. He had barely made it up to the hut built among the branches when the princess was rounding on him with fury on her face.

“How _dare_ you!” she hissed, eyes blazing. “You promise support but plot to usurp me to my face?”

His eyes widened. “Of course not!”

“Did you think I would not know him?” Daenerys continued, deaf to his protestations. “My own family? The nephew I used to play with as a child? The boy I had mourned all these years? How _dare_ you!”

“Jon is not here to challenge your claim,” Robb said, trying to stay calm even if her words enflamed him. 

“Then why is he here?” she demanded, though Robb could see a sad glint in her eyes. He had to remind himself that, no matter how upset she was because she thought her plans were being threatened, she had, like the Starks, grieved for the loss of Jon Targaryen. Her grief had probably been deeper, he realized with a pang, because she had actually _known_ Jon as a child.

“Purely by coincidence,” he replied. “We found him in the Great Wood near Horn Hill. He goes by Jon Snow, and has said nothing about his parentage thus far.”

She frowned at that. “Does he _know_? Has he lost his memories?”

That gave Robb pause. He had not considered that. Jon had gone through a very traumatic experience as a chid and had lost both of his parents. Could it be possible that he didn’t know who he was?

No. Surely he remembered. There had been looks from Jon that gave away the fact that he was holding something back, particularly when Arya had mentioned Lyanna and her son. That had to mean something.

“As far as I know, he remembers,” Robb answered. “But he doesn’t seem to want to claim his name. Not yet, at least.”

She pursed her lips. “I do not wish to think ill of the boy I loved so much as a child, but could he be waiting for the opportune moment to reveal himself and take my kingdom after I have won it?”

“No,” he said firmly, with full confidence in his answer. “Jon has no intention of going South to take your kingdom. He is returning with me to Winterfell.”

“You would take him from his family?” Daenerys asked, displeased. Her fear for her claim being usurped was apparently at war with her desire to keep Jon, her last living relative, near.

Robb could sympathize with her, but that changed nothing. “It is _his_ choice,” he told her emphatically. “Besides, he has family in the North as well.”

She gave him a haughty look. “As you say, it is _his_ choice,” she said frostily. “We shall see what he chooses once he knows that he has a place here.”

He was far from happy with that. He was sure of Jon’s feelings for him, but he and Daenerys had been childhood playmates. What if that swayed him to stay?

“If you approach him, don’t tell him my men and I know who he is,” he requested. “We wish to respect his choice to not tell us.”

Daenerys gave him a contemplative look. “You are awfully keen on choice in the North.”

Robb gave her a smile and a shrug. “What is life without choice?” he asked, parroting the words his father had taught him.

She smiled back. “Indeed.”

tbc…


	7. Chapter Six

Robb and his lieutenants had been given tree huts for the duration of their stay in Meereen. Arya had told Jon that the envoys of the other major houses had been given a similar offer, but the Northern party had been the first to accept. The others had been content to stay firmly on the ground.

“They’re scared of the trees,” Arya had explained with an amused smirk. 

“They should be,” Dacey had added in a serious tone, narrow eyes sweeping the other camps. “They do not respect the old gods. The old gods do not look kindly on disrespect.”

Jon wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but he certainly didn’t mind sleeping in a weirwood tree. He had been surprised when Lord Davos, who had been with Daenerys when she first met them and who had introduced himself as Hand of the soon-to-be Queen, had offered him his own hut.

Of course, as soon as they accepted, Arya had claimed Jon’s hut as her own, laughing as she pushed him towards Robb’s hut and told him to have fun.

Jon had blushed bright red, but he still climbed the ladder to the hut and approached the door of the hut a little nervously. Robb hadn’t offered to let him stay in his hut, after all. Perhaps the disguised prince wanted a bit of privacy. Jon had been constantly at his side for three weeks. He wouldn’t blame Robb for wanting some space.

He knocked on the door and steeled his nerves, opening the door when Robb called out, “Come in.”

“So Arya kicked me out of my hut,” he said in a forced casual voice, leaning against the doorframe. 

Robb grinned at him. “I already had your things brought up.”

Jon shut the door and walked further into the hut, Robb’s words assuring him that he was welcome. There was only one room, and it was sparsely furnished, but it was comfortable enough. There was a bed and a desk, which Robb was currently sitting.

“What are you writing?” he asked curiously, going to his side and leaning against the desk.

“A letter to my father,” Robb replied as he sealed the parchment with white wax but no identifying sigil. “I had to be vague, but I wanted him to know we had arrived safely.”

“How long are we staying here?”

Robb gave him a smile, eyes shining with so much happiness and love that Jon’s heart skipped a beat. “ _We_ ,” he said, emphasizing the word with smug satisfaction, “will only be here a week or so. My father expects me back before Semheim. Some of the lords of the Eastern Kingdom usually attend the festival at Winterfell. It would appear odd if I were not there.”

Jon frowned. “Semheim?”

“It’s a Northern feast day,” he explained. “It marks the end of our year. It’s held on the new moon of the twelfth moon-cycle of the year. It is said that it is the one day of the year when the gods walk among us in disguise. There’s a festival at Winterfell each year. There’s feasting, dancing, contests. Everyone wears masks and dresses in bright colors to emulate the disguised gods and celebrate the new year. It’s fun,” he added, grinning up at him. “You’re going to love it.”

Jon laughed. “I’ll be with you. That’s enough for me to love it.”

Robb stood and bracketed Jon’s body with his arms, causing his breath to stutter in his throat. “Then you’re going to love the rest of your life,” he declared seriously. “Because I intend on being with you for every second of it.”

A pleasant shiver went down his spine at that. “That sounds perfect to me,” he said a little breathlessly.

“My family is going to love you, you know,” Robb told him matter-of-factly. “They will probably be more eager to spend time with you once we arrive than they will me.”

Jon bit his lip at the reminder of Robb’s family and looked away. They were his family too. He had to tell Robb before they reached Winterfell, he knew, but he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. And to be honest, he was a little afraid of what Robb’s reaction may be.

“When is this Semheim festival?” he asked, wanting to know how long he had.

“Nearly six weeks,” Robb answered absently as he leaned in to gently nuzzle Jon’s neck, pressing feather-light kisses to his jawline. Jon moaned at the sensation. “We’ll stay here a fortnight before heading north,” he added, satisfaction thick in his voice.

Jon knew he had asked for a reason, but with Robb kissing and nibbling his way up and down his neck, he forgot what it was. He gasped as the Northern prince pressed close just as his lips reached a particularly sensitive patch of skin right beneath his ear.

“Robb,” he sighed, arching into the other man. He shuddered as Robb’s hand slid under the back of his jerkin and tunic to touch bare skin. He made a noise of protest as the other man stepped back, but Robb just smiled and took his hand, leading him towards the bed.

“A prince should not enjoy being on his knees so much,” he quipped breathlessly a while later.

Robb grinned, pushing Jon back onto the bed before climbing in next to him, toeing off his boots in the process. “Only for you,” he declared, as he wiped himself off with his tunic before wrapping himself around Jon.

Jon chuckled as he curled against Robb. “That’s good to know,” he murmured, sighing as Robb pulled the furs over them both. “Never thought I could be this happy,” he confessed drowsily.

“I will do everything in my power to keep you happy,” he barely registered Robb saying as sleep overcame him.

 

#

 

Jon walked around Meereen feeling a bit lost. Dany’s people were bustling here and there, frantically preparing for the coronation the next day. If he knew Arya, she would likely be in the center of all the action.

Robb, Theon, and Dacey had been in council with Dany and the other envoys that had come. Robb had told him that he was welcome to join them, but he thought it would look odd if he were to sit in on their talks. Instead, he had sought Arya out in the Northern camp, but hadn’t been able to find her among the men.

Jon frowned and ducked quickly, narrowly avoiding being hit in the head a large wooden plank that a couple of men were carrying.

“Sorry!” one of them called back to him as they hurried away.

He shook his head as he weaved around the crowds of people. He’d never find Arya in this craziness. He was just about to give up and go wait for Robb in their hut when he heard her familiar voice call out to him from somewhere above him.

He looked up to see Arya grin down at him from a nearby tree. She flitted from one tree to another, finally coming to rest on a branch directly above him. She raised a challenging eyebrow at him, and he really couldn’t let that go.

Jon crossed over to the base of the tree and swiftly climbed up and swung onto the branch next to her. She gave him a suitably impressed look.

“I’ve only seen Bran climb as well as me. Well,” she added with a smirk. “He’s probably _better_ than me, but don’t tell him that.”

“My lips are sealed,” he promised, leaning against the trunk of the tree. “So what kind of trouble have you been up to?”

Arya gave him a wide-eyed gaze that was a little too innocent. “Just exploring.”

“You mean spying,” he corrected, laughing when she pouted.

“You’re not going to tell on me to Robb, are you?” 

“I’m pretty sure Robb knows _exactly_ what you’ve been up to,” Jon replied with a chuckle. “Have you found out anything interesting, other than the color of the flowers at the coronation?”

She perked up at that, obviously thrilled to be able to share what she had learned. “Most of the Meereenese expect Daenerys to announce her betrothal to Garlan Tyrell tomorrow at the coronation,” she informed. “That’s how she got all her support in the East. The Eastern camps, though, think that she’ll back out in favor of one of the Southern lords.”

“And what do you think?” Jon asked her with a knowing smile.

“She’ll marry the Tyrell,” Arya answered immediately. “The East are the only ones without a real stake in her rebellion so she needs to give them one.”

“That’s a smart observation,” he said with a nod. From what he knew of the Tyrells, the appeared amiable enough, but they were always keen to protect their own position over anything else.

“Oh, and some of the scouts spied unknown men in the wood yesterday,” she told him. “No one can agree who they are though. The Baratheon scouts say they saw an inverted golden pile on a blue background, but the Martells swear the sigil was a deer bound and hanging on a pole. And then the Tullys are sure they saw the Bolton flayed man!”

Jon’s blood ran cold, recognizing each of those sigils. Houses Lefford, Hunt, and Bolton. Lord Hunt was one of his stepfather’s most trusted bannermen, and of course, House Lefford had been housing the Boltons at Golden Tooth. If they were all in the Great Wood, chances were good that they were looking for _him_.

“How many men?” he asked, half afraid of the answer.

“No more than a hundred by all accounts,” she replied with a furrowed brow. “But they all saw them in different places, and if they had different sigils, they could be different groups…” She looked at him with worry in her eyes, seeming younger to him then than she had ever before. “Do you think they’re looking for Meereen?”

“No,” Jon assured her immediately. There was no way they were looking for anything or anybody but him.

He worried the inside of his lip as he considered what to do. They might not be looking for Meereen, but if they kept traipsing through the wood, they were sure to find it. They might not be big in numbers, but if just one of them escaped to tell the tale of the long lost dragon princess, all the Dany had been working towards would be ruined.

But how was he supposed to stop that from happening? Why were they even looking for him? Sure, he knew his stepfather would be angry, but to have so many soldiers scouring the Great Wood for him was unthinkable. It was a lot of effort to go through for a nobody like him.

“Jon?” Arya said, breaking him out of his thoughts and giving him a frown. “Are you alright?”

He forced a smile on his face and nodded. “Of course,” he replied. “Come on. It’s nearly lunchtime. Let’s go find some food.”

tbc…


	8. Chapter Seven

Once Jon knew to keep his ears open, it was easy for him to hear more about the rumors of Eastern and Western men in the wood. The rumors had spread through the ranks of Meereen, causing unease in all those pledged to Daenerys’ cause.

He skirted around the Tyrell banners when he was moving through the camps, listening for any information. He had met Garlan Tyrell when he had visited Horn Hill a few years ago. The Eastern prince would surely be able to recognize him as Lord Tarly’s stepson.

If Robb found out who his stepfather was, then the plan that was beginning to form in his head would be for naught.

“Is something wrong?” Robb asked later that evening as they were eating dinner with the Northern camp. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

Truthfully, his stomach was tied in too many knots to eat anything, but he took a bite of his stew just to ease Robb’s concerns. It wouldn’t do to have his lover become suspicious. “I’m fine,” he assured him. “Just not all that hungry.”

Thankfully, Dacey and Theon sat down on Robb’s other side before the prince could question Jon’s lack of appetite. 

“We have a problem,” Theon said without preamble.

“There have been sightings of Bolton men in the Great Wood,” Dacey said, a stony expression on her face.

“I heard,” Robb replied with a shrug.

Theon’s face twisted in displeasure at his blasé tone. “If they got their hands on you—”

Robb placed a comforting hand on Jon’s knee as his whole body jolted as he realized that Dany and Meereen weren’t the only ones in danger. “The Boltons are exiles and few men follow them,” Robb said. “I have faith that my men are more than enough to handle whatever desperate men follow Roose Bolton.”

Robb didn’t know that Roose Bolton had allied with Lords Tarly and Lefford. Jon opened his mouth and then closed it. What was he going to say? That Bolton had gained powerful allies in the West and the East? How was he going to explain how he knew that? Jon would have to tell Robb how he knew, how his stepfather had planned on giving him away to Lord Bolton’s son, how the men in the wood were hunting for _him_.

He couldn’t do that. The only way to get the men hunting for him out of the Great Wood, he would have to let them find him. As long as they were in the wood, Robb, Arya, Dany, everyone, would be in danger. And if he told Robb about Lord Tarly and his plans, even if he were able to get away, Robb would do everything in his power to get Jon back.

Not that Jon didn’t _want_ Robb to get him back if he was caught by his stepfather’s men, but there’d be too many questions if that happened. Tarly would wonder what Robb and his men were doing in the Great Wood. _Bolton_ would wonder why the Starks had abandoned their self-imposed isolation in the North.

It was much easier if Jon handled things on his own. Getting dragged back to Horn Hill wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t far from Winterfell. He could easily slip away one night and make for Winterfell. Even if his stepfather locked him in his room as punishment for running, he had climbed out of his winder a hundred times. Escaping would be child’s play.

“Jon?” Robb said, squeezing his knee as he drew him out of his thoughts. He looked up from his food to see the prince staring at him in concern. “Are you alright?”

Jon blinked around to see that they were alone. When had that happened? He shook his head and forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

His brow furrowed in concern. “Let’s get you to bed, then.”

Jon let himself be led to their hut, sighing as they dressed down for bed and curled around each other under the furs. 

“I love you,” he said earnestly, knowing that this was the last night he might spend with Robb in a while. And if something went wrong… He swallowed thickly. “No matter what happens, I love you.”

Robb frowned. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“You can’t know that,” Jon said, hating himself for knowing that something was going to happen. That he was going to _make_ it happen.

“Jon,” he replied seriously, bringing a hand up to cup his face. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you either,” he whispered thickly.

He had to remember why he had to leave. If he didn’t, Robb would be in danger. He couldn’t let that happen. He _wouldn’t_ let that happen.

Before Robb could say another word, he closed the gap between their lips, arching into Robb. Jon let his hands slide under Robb’s tunic, groaning as Robb rolled on top of him and slid his leg between his own.

“Make love to me,” he murmured, his breath hitching as Robb’s thigh pressed against his arousal. He shuddered and clutched at Robb’s back. “Please.”

Robb pulled back a little and looked down on him with lust-filled eyes.. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jon breath, wrapping his arms around Robb’s neck to pull him down once into another kiss. “Robb, _please_ ,” he begged, spreading his legs and canting his hips to drive home what he wanted.

If something happened and he wasn’t able to make it to Winterfell, he wanted to have this with Robb.

“Shh,” Robb soothed, rubbing his hands down Jon’s sides before pulling his tunic over his head. “I’ll take care of you,” he promised, hands caressing Jon’s bare skin and causing him to shiver.

They collapsed in a sweaty and sticky heap together some time later, panting to catch their breath.

“I love you,” Robb said as soon as he got himself under some semblance of control. He smiled and leaned their foreheads together. “Marry me?”

Jon wanted to say yes. Nothing would make him happier than to join with Robb in marriage. But he didn’t want to give him false hope in case he wasn’t able to escape his stepfather.

“As soon as we’re together at Winterfell,” he promised instead, feeling unbelievably guilty as Robb beamed at him in happiness.

He _would_ make it to Winterfell, Jon vowed. He would first protect Robb and everyone in Meereen from his stepfather’s men, and then he would escape. He would _not_ disappoint the man he loved.

 

#

 

It was only years of discipline that kept Robb from fidgeting as he watched Daenerys’ coronation from the raised dais where all the other house envoys stood. He knew he should be paying attention to the ceremony, but it was all a little too much pomp and circumstance for his tastes. As long as he stepped forward at the correct time to pledge the North to her cause, it didn’t matter if he was focused on what the septon was saying.

His eyes scanned the crowd, looking for his new fiance. Jon had said he’d stick near Arya, but Robb found her standing between Theon and Dacey, with no Jon in sight.

He frowned and continued looking, growing a bit panicked as he realized he couldn’t see him because he wasn’t _there_.

Robb was broken out of his panic by the call for pledges, stepping forward hastily and managing to get the words out in a neutral tone before he stepped back for the lords of the East.

Where would Jon have gone? Had he gotten sick? Was he injured?

As soon as Daenerys ended the coronation with the announcement of her engagement to the Tyrell prince, Robb was running towards their hut, a terrible fear taking root inside him that he could not suppress. He nearly broke the rope ladder in his haste to ascend, storming into the small space and frowning as he took in the empty room.

He turned to leave, determined to hunt Jon down wherever he was, but paused as he caught a glimpse of something white on the bed. He approached to find a folded piece of paper with his name written on the outside.

With shaking hands, he unfolded the paper, collapsing onto the bed as he read the words that Jon had left behind for him.

_My dearest Robb,_

_I am so sorry to leave you like this. It is tearing my heart in two to do this, but I must. Those men in the wood are after me, and if I stay, I would only be putting you and all of Meereen in danger. Please do not worry for me. I will escape to Winterfell as soon as I can. I promise I will come back to you._

_Love always,_

_Jon_

tbc…


	9. Chapter Eight

He frowned down at the men that had been camping out just inside the Great Wood. They had been there for a couple of weeks now. They flew no sigil, and had yet to bother anyone in the wood. No one was quite sure what they were doing there, but as they had committed no crime and were too few in number to pose a threat to the castle, his father had decided to leave them be.

The Great Wood, after all, belonged to the gods, and man held no authority there.

Still, his father had warned them all to steer clear of the men, mistrusting their intentions. He would be furious with him if he knew that he had disobeyed, let alone that he had made a habit of it.

He was _sure_ the men were waiting for something though. Someone had to keep an eye on them, and who else would but him? Climbing was second nature to him, making it simple as breathing to move from one tree to another, in boughs high enough that the men would never notice him.

So far, they had done nothing, but he was vindicated in his spying by their constant bickering over whether _he_ would turn up or not.

No matter how much he listened, he never learned who the _he_ they were talking about was, or why they thought he was coming. He had considered going to his father with what he had learned, but the threat of being punished for disobeying his orders kept him quiet. 

He would tell his father if something actually _happened_ , he vowed, or if he found out who they were waiting for, but until then, he’d just watch.

 

#

 

Jon had slipped away after lunch, knowing Robb would not begin to wonder about his whereabouts until he didn’t see him at the coronation, which was hours away. He’d have a good head-start on the men Robb was sure to send to look for him.

It was easy to get out of Meereen undetected. The guards may have been under heightened alert because of the coronation, but their focus was on people trying to sneak _into_ Meereen. Sneaking out was another story. It was easy for Jon to evade them by navigating the large branches looming above them.

He felt guilty with every step he took, but Jon knew that this was the only way. He would not be the reason that Robb or Arya were found by Bolton men. He would not be the reason that Dany’s rebellion was over before it began. He had to get the men looked for him _out_ of the Great Wood. To do that, they had to find what they were looking for.

He hoped Robb would forgive him for leaving. The Northern prince was sure to be angry, especially if he learned his stepfather planned for him to marry Ramsay Bolton. Jon shivered as he remembered Arya’s stories about the Boltons and their cruelties. If he had to marry Ramsay…

He pushed the thought away. He would just need to escape Horn Hill before he was set to be married. He worried his lip as he ducked under a large branch, quickly adding up the weeks in his head. Lord Randyll had told him right before he left that he would be married in three moon-cycles. One moon-cycle had already passed. It would take three to four weeks to reach Horn Hill. That left a little over one moon-cycle before the wedding.

A horrible thought seized him. If Bolton men were among those looking for him in the wood, then Lord Bolton and his sons might already be at Horn Hill. What if they moved up the wedding to keep him from running again?

He stopped in his tracks, fear seizing him. It was something his stepfather would do. What reason would he have to delay? It wasn’t as if there would be invitations sent out for the wedding of Tarly’s nobody stepson and the younger son of an exiled lord. If the Boltons were already _there_ …

Jon’s head dropped as he tried to gather his courage to keep moving. It didn’t change anything. Robb and the rest of Meereen would still be in danger with men searching the Great Wood for Jon. There had always been a risk of his stepfather forcing him to marry Ramsay before he could escape to Winterfell. Maybe he had only vaguely thought through that risk, but he had known it existed.

He had fled Horn Hill at the idea of marrying the son of a man who had betrayed his mother’s family and was in league with those that had wiped out his father’s. Now, after Robb and after hearing the grotesque rumors about the Boltons, the thought of marrying Ramsay was even more repulsive to him.

He blanched as he thought about what Robb would think when he learned Jon had married Ramsay. Would he think that Jon had betrayed him? That he had been in league with the Boltons all along? Would he grow to hate Jon?

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go back to Horn Hill. Not when a forceful marriage to Ramsay Bolton was the only thing awaiting him. Jon sighed, leaning back against the smooth trunk of a weirwood tree. It probably made him a coward, but he _couldn’t_ do it.

But he couldn’t just let Meereen be discovered. The longer the searchers went without finding Jon, the further they would venture into the Great Wood. They _would_ find Meereen sooner or later. 

He straightened as an idea struck him. If he were seen further north, the search parties would surely turn around. He could lead them away from Meereen, away from Robb. As long as he didn’t let anyone _catch_ him, he could keep everyone safe while still staying away from Horn Hill.

Once he was seen, of course, it would be much more difficult to evade the men searching for him. He knew the Great Wood better than them, but if they managed to surround him, he would be done for. He would need to leave the wood after he was seen. 

There was only one place he could think of to go, but he wasn’t entirely sure if King Eddard would accept his word that he was Robb’s betrothed, and if he couldn’t convince him of _that_ , there was no way he’d believe the even more outrageous claim that he was Jon Targaryen.

He would have to take a chance, he decided. Surely King Eddard wouldn’t turn him over to Lord Tarly before Robb got back to either confirm or deny Jon’s claim. There had always been a change of him reaching Winterfell before Robb did anyway.

Decision made, he began walking once more, taking more care to go quietly as being caught was no longer in his plans.

 

#

 

“This is _your_ fault!” Daenerys snapped as she whirled around to face Robb. Theon’s face behind her went from the regretful expression he wore to tell them that his men had found no trace of Jon to an annoyed look at the Targaryen queen’s words. “If Jon had known how important he was to us all, he would have known that we would have protected him from those looking for him.”

“Jon knew exactly how important he was, and he knew I would have done _anything_ to keep him safe,” Robb growled, livid at the accusation. “And that importance was based something other than just his name.”

Davos, Barristan, and Garlan Tyrell, Daenerys’s betrothed, were the only others presence in the hut, the other members of the war council having been dismissed. Despite her insistence on finding Jon to keep him safe, Daenerys was in no hurry to tell her supporters that her nephew, whose claim to the Southern throne was better than her own, was missing. Robb thought it was awfully hypocritical of her to be so outraged at him when she had yet to even acknowledge him to her supporters.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “His importance to a simple captain was clearly not enough to assure him. Perhaps he did not believe being the lover of a Northern captain would guaranteed him protection.”

“I am sure he knew he would be protected as the betrothed of the Crown Prince of Winterfell,” he replied heatedly, to the visible surprise of everyone in the room.

Theon was the first to recover and gave Robb an amused smirk. “So much for your father’s plan of anonymity.”

Robb shot him a glare before shifting his focus back to Daenerys. “So you see, your grace, Jon knew that I would have moved the heavens to protect him. Not because of who his parents were, but because I _love_ him.”

She looked properly chastised at that but held her head high. “What do you propose we do now, then?” she demanded. “Do we even know who the men searching for him are?”

“There have been reports of seeing the sigils of Houses Bolton, Lefford, and Hunt,” Barristan informed.

Garlan frowned. “House Hunt is a minor house of the East. Why would they be working with a major house of the West and an exiled house of the North?”

“Who is Lord Hunt sworn to?” Davos asked.

“Lord Tarly of Horn Hill,” the Eastern prince answered. “He wouldn’t be involved though,” he added with a thoughtful look. “Lord Tarly is one of my father’s most trusted lords. He is well-aware of our support of the queen’s cause and would not be involved in a plot such as this.”

“Unless he doesn’t know he is actually Jon Targaryen,” Robb pointed out.

“Why would anyone be after him without knowing that?” Daenerys said, waving off the comment. “No, whoever is after Jon has to be after him because he is a Targaryen.”

“Or a Stark,” Theon remarked. He raised a brow at her questioning look. “The Boltons are enemies of the Starks. Why would they have any quarrel with you?”

The thought of Jon in the hands of Roose Bolton made Robb feel physically ill. He wanted to believe that Jon knew what he was doing and that he _would_ return to him as promised, but Jon didn’t know the Boltons like he did. If they got their hands on Jon and _hurt_ him…

“We cannot dwell on this,” Barristan counseled, giving Daenerys a somber look. “Since we have not found him, we must move forward with our plans. He has sacrificed himself to keep us from being discovered. We must honor that.”

Robb burned anger as Daenerys nodded at the words. He knew Selmy spoke sensibly, but Robb could not even _think_ about _honoring_ Jon’s _sacrifice_. Not when he refused to sacrifice Jon for the Southern cause.

He stood from the council table and met Daenerys’ suddenly wary gaze. “Your grace, the North will answer your call when it comes, but we will be returning to Winterfell at dawn. I am not willing to accept that Jon is lost just yet, and my father has hoped for Jon’s return far too long to do so either.”

He left the hut without looking back, Theon hot on his heels. He would need to inform his men that they were to leave in the morning.

“I am sorry for failing you, your highness,” Theon said sincerely, using the honorific he rarely used for his friend as if by failing to find Jon, he had lost that privilege.

“It’s not your fault, Theon,” he sighed. “I know you did your best. And we will get him back. I will not rest until we do.”

 

#

 

Jon traveled for a few days, evading any men he saw, before he finally let himself be seen by a couple of Lefford scouts. He let the men pursue him north for a bit before losing them by scaling a tree and losing them by backtracking without them realizing.

Remaining unseen the further north he went was difficult after that, but thankfully, the only ones who had gotten close to him were men from the East and the West, who were far from comfortable in the Great Wood. Jon knew the Boltons may have been harder to evade if he had run into them, as the Northern men would have not felt ill-at-ease in the old gods’ domain.

Still, Jon went to sleep every night terrified that he would be discovered. He slept in the trees to stay hidden, but he knew he was still vulnerable. The longer he travelled alone, the more sure he became that he would be captured, his mind conjuring up nightmares where he was forced to marry Ramsay and his new husband began eating his fingers during the feast.

It didn’t help that Jon didn’t know the Great Wood well enough to know exactly where he was. He figured if he kept traveling north, though, then he would eventually make it to Winterfell. He had been traveling a little over three weeks before he stumbled upon the heart tree where he had first met Arya.

Considering how well Arya had known this part of the wood, Jon knew that Winterfell had to be fairly close. And he knew Horn Hill wasn’t far. If he were to guess, he’d place the heart tree somewhere near the midway point between the two castles.

He was nearly there, he realized, the constant fear from the previous weeks lifting a bit as hope set in.

He continued his trek north with renewed vigor, nearly collapsing with relief as he caught a glimpse a break in the trees up ahead. As he got closer, he could see the turrets of Winterfell standing tall in the orange light of the sunset.

Jon was so focused on castle that he was caught off guard when he was suddenly grabbed from behind.

He gave a shout of alarm as he threw his elbow up to catch his assailant’s chin, spinning as he reached for the sword on his hip. His breath was knocked out of him as he received a blow to his stomach before he could draw it. A cry of pain was ripped from him as his arms were pulled behind his back so roughly that his shoulders nearly dislocated. A gag was stuffed into his mouth and tied tightly before his head was yanked back harshly by his hair.

Jon did not know the man who stood in front of him, but he felt a sense of foreboding as he smirked down at him.

“Jon Targaryen,” he said triumphantly. “Lord Bolton knew you would seek aid from your uncle eventually. We’ve come to retrieve you for your bridegroom.”

Jon’s eyes widened at his name. They knew who he was. 

Jon made a noise of protest as he realized that he was some piece in whatever plan they had and renewed his struggles against the hands holding him, determined to not be used against either the Starks or Dany.It was no use though. They heaved him to his feet and forced him south and away from Winterfell. He craned his head to look back, catching one final glimpse of the castle before he hung his head in resignation.

He should have gone back to Meereen, he thought glumly. He should never have _left_. If he had thought things through…

No, Jon told himself firmly. Robb was safe. Arya was safe. Dany and everyone in Meereen were safe. His happiness was a small price to pay for that. Whatever it was that they were planning for him, he had to believe that Robb and Dany would be able to counter it.

He had to because if something happened to them because of _him_ , Jon would never forgive himself.

tbc…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dissatisfied with how this came out but oh well. Hope you enjoyed!


	10. Chapter Nine

Jon spent the night gagged, bound tightly to a tree, and thankfully ignored by the men who had captured him. It had been a far from comfortable way to spend his night, but he would not have been able to sleep with the fear and dread sitting heavy in his stomach. It could have been worse, though. Bolton’s men might have decided to have some fun with him before turning him over to their lord.

He squared his jaw as they approached Horn Hill, determined not to show any of them how terrified he was. He couldn’t let his fear get the best of him. He had to learn as much information as possible. If Tarly and Bolton both knew who he was, he could only guess that they were planning to move against either the Starks or Dany or both. If he was going to be a captive, he was going to escape knowing his captors’ plans.

Jon pushed away the little voice in his head that reminded him that he might _not_ be able to escape. 

He glared up at his stepfather as he was dragged into the Great Hall and forced to his knees. His eyes flitted to the two men to his left, their sigils giving them away as Lords Bolton and Lefford. His eyes turned to Lord Randyll’s right to see his stepbrothers standing at their father’s side, Dickon standing proudly while Sam shifted nervously and looked at Jon with palpable worry.

_You’re going to have to hide your feelings better than that, Sam,_ he thought sadly. _You’re not going to do either of us any good if you don’t._

It was nice to know that Sam, at least, wasn’t aware of his father’s schemes, but Jon knew that his oldest stepbrother would never go against his father. He was much too frightened of the man.

“You foolish boy,” Lord Tarly sneered as he looked down on him. Jon met his gaze with a defiant stare. “You nearly ruined everything. If you weren’t so important to our plans, I’d have you whipped within an inch of your life. Throw him in the dungeons,” he snapped to his guards before smirking at Jon. “He’ll stay there until it’s time for his wedding.”

Jon’s eyes widened. He hadn’t thought that his stepfather would lock him away in his dungeons. There would be no escaping that. 

He struggled desperately against the hands that pulled at him, curses blocked by the gag in his mouth as he was taken away.

He caught one last look at Sam’s horrified face, eyes uselessly pleading with his stepbrother to _help_ him, before he was dragged from the room and down to his cell.

 

#

 

Robb had driven his men hard to reach Winterfell as fast as possible, but it had still taken them over three weeks. The further north they went, the more men there were searching the Great Wood for Jon. The fact that they were still looking heartened Robb because it meant that Jon had yet to be _found_. Maybe there was a chance that he was safe. Wherever he was, he was great as covering his tracks, as they had found no trail of his despite knowing that he must have come a similar route.

Robb had wanted so badly to confront the search parties and demand they tell him why they wanted Jon. It had taken both Theon and Dacey to convince Robb that it was best to stay hidden, but he knew that they were right. It would do Jon little good if he and his men were to be captured.

Still, he puzzled over the mystery behind the searches the entire journey. Bolton, Lefford, and Hunt. What was the connection? Bolton being in league with Lefford was simple enough to explain, as House Lefford was a powerful and trusted bannerman of the Lannisters, who his father had long since suspected was giving the exiled lord refuge. Hunt made no sense, though, unless…

Jon’s stepfather had been a nobleman from Horn Hill. Could he have been Lord Hunt?

It would explain why Hunt was looking for Jon, but not why he was in league with Bolton and Lefford. What would Hunt have to gain from giving a Targaryen heir to the Lannisters?

Robb was relieved when Winterfell finally came within sight. Perhaps his father would be able to understand what the Boltons and Lannisters were plotting.

He didn’t bother making himself presentable before rushing to his father’s solar with Arya hot on his heels, both knowing that there was no time to lose. When they got there, though, he found that King Eddard wasn’t alone.

“Bran, I told you to stay away from those men,” his father intoned, voice equal parts disappointed and angry. “We know nothing about where they came from or what they want. It’s dangerous.”

“I know I wasn’t supposed to be there, but, Father, this is _important_ ,” his younger brother insisted. “They took him! They said something about him being a bridegroom for Bolton’s son and they _took_ him!”

Robb’s blood ran cold. No. It couldn’t be. It must be a coincidence. But he had to know…

“Who?” he asked breathlessly from the open doorway. His father and brother’s heads snapped to look at them, surprise playing over their features. “Bran, who did they take?” he said a bit more firmly. 

“They called him Jon Targaryen,” Bran answered. He turned pleading eyes to Eddard once more. “I didn’t get a good look at him, but that’s what they called him. Father, if it _was_ him, we can’t let them take him to the Boltons!”

Robb barely heard his brother’s pleas as he grasped the doorframe to keep himself upright. No. Not Jon. He must have been heading to Winterfell, to the sanctuary Robb had _promised_ he would find. Instead, he had found a trap and now he was in the hands of the Boltons and…

He felt sick as he realized Jon was going to be forced to wed Bolton’s son. Which one, he didn’t know, but both were as twisted and heartless as their father so it didn’t really matter, did it?

Oh, gods, _Jon_.

“Robb?” his father’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Ned at his side, a sturdy hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright, son?”

“We have to get him back, Father,” Robb said in pained whisper. “I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

Confusion crossed his father’s face before comprehension flooded his eyes. “It’s really him,” Ned breathed. “You met him in the wood. Lyanna…?”

Robb shook his head sadly. “Dead. I’m sorry. I don’t know how. But Jon…”

“We’ll find him,” Eddard stated with conviction, pushing his grief away. “I promise that we will find him.”

He wanted to believe his father, but a horrible voice kept whispering in his ear.

_What if you find him too late?_

 

#

 

Jon wasn’t sure if his stepfather was trying to starve him or not, but he had been in his cell for nearly a week now and had only been fed twice. He shuddered as his mind went back to Arya’s tale of the Bolton’s oldest son keeping his wife locked up and starving her to the point of eating her own fingers.

“You know, I was afraid you’d be blond,” a voice said suddenly, startling Jon. He squinted his eyes to gaze into the darkness beyond the bars of his cell. The speaker moved closer to lean casually against the opposite wall, icy eyes staring at him intently. “I never cared for blonds. You, though? You’re much more appealing than I had dared hope.”

“You must be Ramsay,” Jon guessed, standing despite his shaky legs. He would _not_ show this man any weakness.

A deranged smile stretched over his face. “Your betrothed,” he said with satisfaction.

“You are _not_ my betrothed,” he snapped angrily. Robb was his betrothed. Robb was the only one he would willingly marry.

Ramsay’s smile stayed in place. “You’re going to be fun, aren’t you? Extinguishing that fire of yours will quite exciting.” 

Jon forced himself not shy away from the eyes roving over his body, feeling ill at the fact that, soon enough, it might be more than Ramsay’s eyes roaming his body. “I am _not_ marrying you,” he said stubbornly.

“You don’t have to marry me for me to have fun with you,” he replied pleasantly. “I’m sorry we’ll have to wait. My father doesn’t wish for rumors that you were mistreated prior to the wedding to get out. They might not accept our marriage if they believe you were forced.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why would that matter?”

Ramsay stared at him a moment, smile slipping off his face, but he suddenly let out a loud laugh. “You sneaky little minx!” he giggled. “You’re trying to trick me into telling you our plans! I’ll have to remember to pay you back for that later,” he added gleefully as he pushed away from the wall. 

Jon watched him carefully as he walked away, not really relaxing until he heard the faint sound of the heavy door shutting that led down to the dungeons.

He let his knees buckle, unable to summon the strength to stay upright anymore. He would _not_ marry that man, he silently vowed. He would _never_ say the words that would pledge himself to him. He would die first.

He leaned his head back against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes. He had been stupid and reckless. He should have paid more attention to his surroundings as he neared Winterfell. He should have been more careful. If he had, maybe he would be safe in the North with Robb rather than rotting away in this damnable dungeon cell.

 

#

 

“It’s been nearly two weeks!” Robb cried in frustration as he paced his father’s solar anxiously as his parents looked on with grim faces. “We have to send our own men out to search for him! Let me go!” he pleaded, giving his father a beseeching look. “I’ll lead them myself!”

Ned sighed heavily. “You know we can’t,” he replied. “If the Boltons suspect that we are on our guard, they may retreat and never show their hand. If they were to disappear into the West with Jon, we would never get him back.”

“I don’t like having Lord Tarly’s men searching Horn Hill when I should be the one out there searching for him,” he said in defeat, collapsing into the chair next to his mother. “I feel like I’m abandoning him to the Boltons. If he’s forced to marry one of Bolton’s sons…”

“Then the marriage would be a sham,” Catelyn told him firmly. “Marriage vows are not true if they are said at sword point. He would still be free to marry.”

“But what kind of horrors would he be subjected to during his sham marriage?” Robb asked morosely.

“Lord Tarly is an honorable man, and you said that Highgarden trusts him without reserve. If Jon is anywhere in Horn Hill, Lord Tarly will find him and deliver him to us,” Ned assured him. “You must hold on to hope.”

He shook his head in resignation. “I can’t trust Lord Tarly to find Jon. I can’t place my trust in a man I do not know, in a man who does not know and love Jon. Father, please, give me leave to find him myself. I will go mad just waiting here.”

Ned gave him a long, considering look before nodding slowly. “After the Semheim festival, you may take whatever men you choose and scour the entire continent if you wish. And we shall pray everyday for the safe and swift return of both of you.”

Robb could see that it was a compromise. If he wasn’t at the Semheim festival, suspicions would be raised, and Ned Stark was not fool enough to believe that there would not be Bolton spies at the festival. If the Crown Prince of Winterfell were not in attendance, the Boltons would know that something was wrong.

No matter how much his heart ached at waiting another week to begin his search, he could see the wisdom in his father’s offer and nodded in acquiescence.

“The moment the festival ends, though, I am leaving to find him,” he vowed, determination as strong as steel in his voice.

“I would expect no less.”

tbc…


	11. Chapter Ten

“I know you’re hungry,” Ramsay told him matter-of-factly, popping a grape into his mouth and giving Jon a toothy smile. “Don’t you want some food?” he asked, gesturing towards the tray of sweet meats, cheeses, and grapes he had brought down.

Jon shot him a defiant glare before looking away. This was the third time Ramsay had visited him with food. Jon refused to play his games though, despite the gnawing ache of hunger in his belly. The guards hadn’t given him food since Ramsay had been visiting, only water. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to resist Ramsay’s mind games, but he was going to hold out as long as possible.

“You really are being quite rude, you know,” Ramsay said with a mournful shake of his head. “If we’re going to get married, we have to get to know each other better.”

“I am _not_ marrying you, and I _don’t_ want to know you,” Jon bit out.

“You really aren’t making this easy on yourself,” he said sadly. He held up a small slice of meat. “Come now, I’ll give you an easy one first. What’s your favorite color?”

Jon clenched his job and stared resolutely at the dirty stone wall in front of him. He wasn’t going to let this man know _anything_ about him. Maybe it was stupid to not answer the harmless questions, but he knew that once he had one bite of food, his resolve would crumble and he might not be able to resist the next question.

And some of Ramsay’s questions _weren’t_ harmless.

Questions like “What’s your favorite food?” and “What’s your horse’s name?” were peppered among questions like “What’s your greatest fear?” and “Who were you with while you were gone?” and “Why were you going to Winterfell?”

Jon didn’t know what kind of information Ramsay was hoping to get, but he wasn’t going to give it to him. Not willingly, at least. The problem was, the longer he went without food, the more he could feel delirium creeping in. He had taken to blocking out the questions all together, not wanting to inadvertently answer.

A loud _bang_ jerked his attention back to Ramsay, who had slammed the tray the food had been on against Jon’s bars. “Pay attention!” he snarled angrily, a wild light in his eyes before a pleasant mask descended once more. “We are getting acquainted.”

Jon was suddenly very glad that he was locked in his cell as he realized just how deranged the man his stepfather intended him to marry was. So far, Ramsay hadn’t made any move to enter the cell, even though Jon knew he could easily have access to the key if he wanted, but he knew there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t tire of toying with Jon with the barrier between them in place.

With that in mind, he gritted his teeth and didn’t say anything, refusing to placate the man and knowing that anything else he might say would only anger him more.

“That’s better,” Ramsay said in satisfaction, leaning casually against the bars. Jon resisted the urge to cringe further into the corner. His cell was so small that, despite being as far from the bars as possible, if Ramsay were to crouch down and reach through the bars, Jon would be within his easy reach.

“You are definitely part Stark,” he continued, saying the name with disdain. “That’s too bad. I was hoping that the Targaryen in you would make you more fun. Or maybe both sides of your family are boring. Not that it matters, of course,” he added with a gleam in his eyes. “They’ll both be extinct soon enough.”

Jon jerked at that. “What do you mean?” he asked before he could stop himself. He cursed himself as a triumphant light entered Ramsay’s eyes. 

“How about we play a game?” Ramsay suggested with a grin. “I’ll answer one of your questions, and then you’ll answer one of mine, and so on and so forth. Agreed?”

He had no choice. Not really. His heart was pounding with fear at Ramsay’s certainty that all Starks and Targaryens would be dead soon. He had to know what the Boltons had planned for them, what they had planned for _Robb_ , even if there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He nodded in defeat.

“Wonderful!” Ramsay cried, clapping his hands in joy. “And to be a good sport, I will answer your previous question. I meant that all Starks and Targaryens will soon be dead. Well, except for you, of course. Now, my turn! I want to know who was the last person you kissed.”

Jon scowled. He should have known that Ramsay would not give any more information than he had to in order to play by the rules of his own game. He was going to lose this game, he knew. He couldn’t think clearly. His mind was sluggish as he tried to work out how he was going to answer Ramsay’s question without revealing anything.

“A Northern captain,” he said finally, not really lying as Robb _had_ been the captain of his men.

“A _Northern_ captain,” Ramsay repeated gleefully. “That is interesting. Where was this Northern captain from?”

“No, it’s my turn,” Jon reminded him. “How are you going to kill the Starks?”

He laughed. “I see you aren’t too concerned about your little aunt in the wood. And are plan to kill the Starks hasn’t changed all that much. It’s always been to sneak into the big party and kill everyone. Only this time, everyone dies. No keeping the daughters alive to solidify our claim. We don’t need them,” he said, looking at Jon meaningfully.

He frowned, trying to work out what that meant. Why was it so hard? He knew that Ramsay’s words had given away more than what the other man had intended, but he couldn’t put the pieces together. Not with his head feeling so heavy and the words _everyone dies_ ringing in his ears.

_Robb_.

Not only Robb, but Arya too, he realized as his heart constricted painfully. Not to mention his uncle, aunt, and other cousins, who he had never met and now never would.

“Where in the North was your captain from?” Ramsay asked.

“Winterfell,” he answered automatically, still too preoccupied with his frantic thoughts to bother with being vague. “When are you attacking the Starks?”

Ramsay smiled and pushed away from the bars. “I think that’s enough games for today. You were very good for me today, Jon,” he praised. “I think as a reward, I’ll have some food sent down for you.”

Jon glared at Ramsay’s back as he left the dungeons, hating that the man had left so satisfied. A few hours later, when a guard brought him a plate with beans and bread along with a pitcher of water, he wanted to refuse on principle. He hated that his hunger got the better of him and caused him to practically inhale the simple fare.

Despite the blandness of the food, he felt nauseous after he ate it, curling on his side and forcing himself not to vomit.

He felt helpless as everything seemed to crash down on him in that moment, despair nearly breaking him. Why was he even bothering holding on? If the Boltons killed Robb, what was the _point_? What was he holding on for? A marriage with a sadistic maniac?

He whimpered and pushed those thoughts away. He had to cling to a hope of escape, not matter how small. He’d go crazy if he didn’t.

With that in mind, he let his exhaustion drag him down into a fitful sleep.

 

#

 

Robb sighed as he stared out the window at the main courtyard, where he could already see the bare bones of the Semheim festival going up. The outer courtyard, he knew, was being set up as well beyond the tall stone wall that separated the two, and beyond the gates, the inns of Winter Town were already filling and camps were already being pitched by the festival-goers who had arrive a few days early.

Soon, he would be allowed to search for Jon.

The waiting was agonizing, not knowing where Jon was or if he were hurt or, _gods_ , if he were even _alive_. Despite knowing Bolton’s plan to marry Jon to one of his sons, Robb couldn’t let that comfort him. Plans changed, and Jon might have outlived his usefulness.

He closed his eyes at the painful thought. No, he told himself forcefully. He could not wallow in despair. Not when Jon was out there and counting on Robb to find him.

“Did you really find him?” Sansa’s voice startled him, and he turned to see his older sister come to his side. “Prince Jon?” she clarified needlessly, her sorrowful blue eyes meeting his briefly before looking out on the courtyard once more.

Jon was a fairytale that they had all grown up on. Robb shouldn’t be surprised at Sansa’s interest. It was like being told that he had seen the Winter Maid or Brave Danny Flint or Jonquil and Florian.

Robb remembered how their mother had changed the endings of those tales whenever she told them, making it so nothing terrible ever happened and everyone lived happily ever after. Sansa had sighed dreamily at those endings, believing them with her whole heart.

The truth was that they had all died in the end. Every song ended in beautiful tragedy.

Robb’s heart wrenched in two at the thought of Jon as just another tragic song.

“I found him once, and I will find him again,” he vowed, more to himself than to Sansa. “I _will_ bring him home.”

 

#

 

Jon was jerked out of his restless sleep by the dungeon door opening. Ramsay again, he knew. All of the fear and despair disappeared from him, replaced by a roaring red _anger_ that had him on his feet and clenching the bars of his cell, ready to face his would-be betrothed when he appeared.

He was caught up in his anger to realize that there were _two_ sets of footsteps heading his way, and was therefore surprised when it wasn’t Ramsay that came into view.

It was Sam and Talla.

“We brought you some soup,” Talla was the first to speak, holding up the bowl she held slightly with a shy smile on her face. “It’ll be more easy on your stomach.”

He furrowed his brow in confusion as he wordlessly took the bowl through the small break in the bars designed for food. He hadn’t expected either of his step-siblings to brave their father’s wrath to see him, let alone bring him food.

Seeing Talla’s expectant look, he slowly spooned the soup into his mouth, still feeling a bit on edge as he eyed the two of them.

Could this be another of Ramsay’s games?

“We’re sorry we haven’t been down sooner!” Sam blurted out suddenly, as if he could not bear the silence any longer. Talla nodded earnestly in agreement. “Father wouldn’t allow it. I _asked_ , Jon, I swear!”

From their wide-eyed, sincere gazes, Jon knew he was telling the truth, and he felt a wave of affection for his stepbrother. He knew that it wouldn’t have been easy for Sam to summon the courage to ask his father for such a favor. It meant a lot that he had done so on Jon’s behalf.

“Why did he allow it now?” Jon asked suspiciously. Just because Sam and Talla were sincere didn’t mean that they weren’t being used to manipulate him.

Sam’s face took on a sheepish expression. “Well, he didn’t _actually_ allow it…”

“Everyone else is gone,” Talla explained. “Well, not _everyone_. Father and Lords Bolton and Lefford all left a hundred men each to guard Horn Hill.” From her face, Jon could tell that they were really left to guard _him_. “But while they’re gone, Sam’s in charge, and we can at least make you a bit more comfortable!”

He shook his head at his stepsister’s naivety and gave her back the now empty bowl of soup. “Talla, there’s no being comfortable here for me,” he told her gently. Her face drooped with sadness, but she looked more resigned than surprised. “Where has everyone gone?”

“Winterfell,” Sam answered grimly. Jon’s head snapped to him in horror. His stepbrother flinched but continued. “They mean to take it, and then use you to challenge Daenerys Targaryen’s claim to the South and divide her troops.”

“Sam, you’ve got to get me out of here!” he said urgently, heart seizing with terror knowing that Tarly and Bolton were going to Winterfell. They were going to kill everyone. _They were going to kill Robb!_

The pieces Ramsay had given him before suddenly clicked together in a horrifying picture. Sneaking into a big party. That had been their plan before, when they had tried to attack on Princess Sansa’s name-day. Now they were doing it again, when the Starks thought they were safe, when they had _no idea_ that the Boltons would be there.

And it would be _easy_ , Jon realized in horror. The Semheim festival, where everyone wore _masks_.

Sam was shifting uncertainly in front of him. Jon knew he was his only hope of saving Robb. He _had_ to convince him.

“Sam, please, if you ever loved me, you will let me go!” he pleaded desperately. “What your father is doing is _wrong_. A lot of innocent people are going to _die._ You _know_ that!”

His stepbrother glanced at Talla worriedly. “He’ll kill both of us when he comes back if you’re gone, Jon,” he said feebly. “He won’t even hesitate. He’s been looking for a way to get rid of me so Dickon can be his heir.”

“Then leave with me!” Jon said in sudden inspiration. “Go into the Great Wood and find Daenerys and _warn_ her about your father! There will be Tyrell men with her. King Mace will protect you from your father!”

If anything, Sam looked even _more_ terrified at the thought of going into the wood. “Jon, I _can’t_ …”

“Yes, you _can_ , Sam!” he told him. “You can be brave and you can stop your father! Please!”

Sam looked to Talla once more, but she just nodded emphatically. “I agree with Jon, Sam,” she said, voice ringing with resolve. “We can’t just let people die.”

Sam took a deep breath before nodding resolutely. “You’re right. We’ll get you out, Jon, and we’ll come with you to find Daenerys.”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re going to find Daenerys on your own. _I_ am going to Winterfell.”

“You _can’t_!” Sam cried in horror. “Jon, you’ll _die_! There’s nothing you can do to save the Starks.”

“I can warn them,” Jon argued. “And if I die with them, that’s better than living with myself knowing that I didn’t even _try_.”

Tears were streaming down Talla’s face as she shook her head. “Jon, you don’t even _know_ them, and you’re so weak… Please, just come with us. So we can all be safe and together.”

“I do know them,” he protested. “Some of them at least. And I love them. So much,” he admitted, voice thick with emotion. “I _have_ to save him. Please, let me go.”

Sam and Talla shared a sad glance before his stepbrother nodded. “We’ll help you, Jon,” he said seriously. “Just… try not to die too.”

He gave them a small, worn smile. “I’ll do my best.”

tbc…


	12. Chapter Eleven

Sneaking out of the castle in the dark hours of the morning would have been a lot quicker if Talla hadn’t insisted that he bathe and change into finer clothing before he left.

“I’m going to warn them of an attack, not have fun at the festival,” Jon hissed in protest as his stepsister snuck up him up to her room while Sam distracted the guards. All he could think about was that every second he waited to leave was a second that might make him too late to save Robb.

“You have to blend in when you get there, or Father or the others might recognize you and stop you,” she told them. “Besides, you’ll be clean and clothed by the time Sam finishes tacking up the horses.”

“I won’t need a horse,” he replied, even as he flung a hand out to the stone wall to keep himself steady. “It would just make navigating the wood slower.”

His stepsister slid an arm around his waist to help him up the stairs. “You won’t make it to Winterfell on foot,” she said gently. She looked at him once they had conquered the stairs, tears in her eyes. “Jon, you might not make it at all. Won’t you please come with us? Why go just to die with them?”

Jon didn’t say that if they died, if _Robb_ died, he wasn’t sure life would be worth living anymore. He wasn’t sure if his stepsister, as sweet and loving as she was, would understand. His life in Horn Hill hadn’t really been living. Sure, there were quiet moments when he could escape to the wood or that he could spend with his step-siblings, but he hadn’t been _living_.

He hadn’t lived until Arya had found him in the Great Wood beneath the heart tree, and he had been whole-heartedly accepted by the Northerners. And then Robb…

Well, how did one live if their heart died?

“I have to,” he said simply instead, not having the time or energy to try to explain it any further than that. Talla looked far from satisfied at the answer, but led him into her chambers instead, where a hot bath was waiting for him, as well as a pair of dark trousers, a light grey tunic, a darker grey velvet doublet, and a bright red mask.

“The clothing is Dickon’s,” she explained. “So the pants will be a bit long. I made the mask myself out of an old dress of mine. I hope it’ll do.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jon assured her, not caring one bit what the mask looked like. He might have preferred a more sedate color so as not to stand out as much, but as long as he got there in time, it didn’t matter. Talla stepped out to give him the privacy to bathe and dress, and to keep watch at the door.

Jon moved as quickly as he could, which was made more difficult by the damnable weakness in his muscles. Talla was right, he thought morosely as he dunked his head in the water and scrubbed his curls. He might _not_ make it to Winterfell.

No, he couldn’t think that way. He _would_ make it. He had to.

He climbed out of the bath on shaky legs, gripping the metal edges of the tub tightly to keep from falling. He dried off and pulled on the clothing Talla had gathered for him. She was right. They were a big too long, but it didn’t matter. He just tucked the excess into his boots as he laced them up. Deciding that the extra bit of disguise wouldn’t hurt as he was escaping, he also donned the mask, happy to see that it covered most of the top half of his face and left him nearly unrecognizable.

Talla nodded her approval as he opened the door and led him silently to the stables, where Sam was waiting with three horses, tacked and ready for their riders.

“Buttercup is the most docile,” Sam told him, referring to Talla’s mare. “She’ll probably be the easiest for you to ride.”

Jon nodded, knowing that Sam was right. In his weakened condition, he needed a horse that wasn’t going to give him any trouble. He didn’t have a horse of his own that he could trust, so Talla’s mare was the next best thing.

“I’ve put plenty of food in your saddlebag,” Sam continued a bit fretfully. “Just fruit and bread and some cheese. Stuff that will be easy for you to eat while you ride. Are you sure you don’t want us to travel North with you?”

Jon knew that Sam was only offering out of worry for him and with no real desire to head North. With his father at Winterfell, Sam was sure to want to be as far away from there as possible. “I’m sure,” he answered. “I need you to get to Daenerys Targaryen. Tell her everything you know. Tell her that your father is attacking Winterfell with Bolton and Lefford.”

He didn’t know if Daenerys would jeopardize her own chances to help Winterfell, but Garlan Tyrell would be there. He might send aid from the East.

It would all be for naught, though, if he didn’t reach Winterfell in time.

It took both him and Sam to get him onto Buttercup, and Jon steadfastly ignored his step-siblings’ concerned eyes. All he had to do was get to Winterfell and find Robb. After he told him everything he knew, _then_ Jon could collapse and not a moment sooner.

Sam took hold of both Buttercup’s reins along with his own stallion’s, while Talla took the tan geldling’s. Jon slumped over the back of the mare as Sam led them quietly out of the castle, pausing every now and again to evade the patrolling guards. It was a painstaking process, especially with how very aware Jon was that every second was of the essence. Thankfully, once they were out of the castle’s outer walls, they were quickly able to escape into the shadows of the Great Wood.

“I’ll see you both soon,” Jon promised Sam and Talla after they had both mounted. They all knew that it was a promise he might not be able to keep, but they parted without acknowledging that fact. Jon didn’t look back as he turned Buttercup north, digging his heels into her sides to spur her on as fast as he dared.

Jon nibbled on some fruit as the pale dawn sun creeped through the trees, hating the pace of the horse but knowing that going any faster would risk Buttercup stumbling in the underbrush or over a root. The wood would be easier and faster to navigate on foot, but that was only when the person on foot was healthy, which Jon had to admit he was woefully far from.

The sun had reached its peak in the sky by the time he reached the heart tree where he first met Arya, though Jon could barely see it through the thick red leaves of the weirwood trees. He sagged in relief in his saddle. At least he knew that he was headed in the right direction. With any luck, he would reach Winterfell by sunset.

He ate some more of the food Sam had packed him as he rode, feeling weak at the very effort. If just _eating_ tired him, how was he ever going to find Robb at the festival without raising Tarly or Bolton’s suspicions? 

His answer came to him not two hours after he had passed the heart tree.

“My prince,” a low voice greeted as two slight figures stepped out of the trees into Buttercup’s path, causing the docile mare to stop. They bowed in unison before straightening and looking Jon in the eye.

It was a girl and a boy, their faces seeming older than their height would suggest, with a quiet determination that set Jon on edge. He straightened in his saddle, wanting to appear imposing to the two strangers. Despite their bows, or maybe _because_ of his bows, he was wary.

“I am no prince,” he replied firmly, meaning to brush them aside as quickly as possible so as to reach Winterfell faster.

“Yes, you are,” the green-eyed boy replied with a calm confidence. “I recognize your mask.”

The oddity of the statement gave him pause. “The mask was a gift given to me this morning. You must be mistaken.”

“No,” the strange boy told him. “I saw you in your mask ripped away from Prince Robb. I saw you released from your chains and escaping into the Great Wood. And I saw you captured by an army before you reach Winterfell.”

“How did you see this?” Jon demanded, chilled to the bone at the boy’s knowledge. He knew about him and Robb, knew that he was running to Winterfell.

And he knew that he would never make it.

“My brother has dreams, highness,” the girl stated. “He saw you and knew that we must help you.”

“The two of you are going to get me through an army?” he asked incredulously, eyeing her short sword and her bow. The boy was unarmed.

“We’re going to get you _around_ an army,” she said with a smirk.

“I need to be at Winterfell by sunset,” Jon told them skeptically.

“We will get you there,” the boy promised solemnly.

Jon was far from sure that he could trust the two, no matter how much they seemed to know. Still, if there _were_ an army standing between him and Winterfell, he had no idea how he would get past them without help.

“Why are you helping me?” he asked suspiciously.

“You are the future Prince Consort of Winterfell,” the girl replied. “Our house as always been House Stark’s leal servants. I am Meera Reed. My brother’s name is Jojen.”

Crannogmen. That would explain why they seemed older than their heights suggested. The people of Greywater Marshes were known to be small, slight, and incredibly loyal to the King in the North.

“Everyone at Winterfell is in danger,” Jon told them urgently, needing them to understand his rush. “Lord Tarly has aligned with Lords Bolton and Lefford. They plan to have men at the festival to attack the castle from the inside out.” 

Meera’s eyes widened as a pensive look overtook her brother’s face. “Then we must hurry,” Jojen said.

Meera grabbed Buttercup’s reins and began leading them through the trees, veering off further right than Jon had originally planned. “We’ll cross the western most edge of the marshes. You’ll have to leave your horse on this side, but you’ll be closer to Winterfell than you would be otherwise once we cross.”

Jon nodded, trusting her knowledge of the North. He didn’t care how he got to Winterfell as long as he got there in time.

“You should rest as best as you can while in your saddle, my prince,” Jojen suggested. “You will need your strength.”

He couldn’t deny that he was exhausted, but he was sure that he was much too anxious to take the advice. 

“Trust us, my prince,” Meera told him with sincerity and confidence. “You will reach Winterfell in time. Rest.”

Jon nodded and allowed himself to slump in the saddle, eyes slipping shut as he tried to ignore his worry and fear. He must have been more tired than he thought, because sleep came easy. Or half-sleep, at least. He dozed for a long time, slipping in and out of awareness, staying conscious just enough to stay seated on Buttercup.

Jojen roused him as they came to a stop on the edge of a marsh, Jon frowning in confusion at the swampy land before him. How were they going to cross?

Jon slid off of Buttercup, nodding his thanks to Meera as she pressed some cheese, bread, and a water skin into his hands. He ate quickly, unable to deny that the rest and food had done him a world of good. Though his body ached with riding horseback all day, he found that he at least had enough strength in his muscles to stand and walk for a while.

“Follow my steps precisely,” Meera told him as they approached the marsh. “It’s not far. Barely a mile. There will be no opportunity to rest, though, and if you step in the wrong spot, the mud will swallow you whole before we can get to you.”

He swallowed thickly but nodded his understanding. He kept his eyes on Meera’s feet as she crossed first, stepping in her bootprints to be sure he didn’t stray from her path. The sun was sinking low in the sky, urging him to continue on as time slipped by faster than he would like.

He nearly collapsed in relief as they finally stepped onto firm land, Winterfell looming over them closer than Jon had realized. If he collapsed, though, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to get back up again.

The sun was just starting to sink as they reach the main gates of the castle, thrown wide open so that the festival-goers could come and go freely in the large courtyard between the outer wall and the moat guarding the inner wall.

“The royal family and the other noble houses will be in the main courtyard,” Jojen informed him as the siblings tied on grey-green masks. 

“It’s a good thing we are with you,” Meera added. “The guards will recognize us and allow us to pass without an invitation. Elsewise, you would have had to wait out here for someone you knew to come out.”

Jon hadn’t even considered that the highborn would celebrate the festival separately from the smallfolk. It was fortunate, then, that he had met Meera and Jojen.

“How do the guards know you so well?” he asked. The guards at Horn Hill, he knew, wouldn’t know any of his stepfather’s bannermen’s children on sight. 

“We are frequent companions of Prince Bran,” Meera replied simply as they crossed the drawbridge, the two crannogmen pushing their masks up to greet the guards.

“M’lady, m’lord,” one of them greeted as they eyed Jon warily.

“He’s a friend,” Meera assured them as she looped an arm through Jon’s and led him into the main courtyard.

Jon was dismayed to see how crowded the festival in this courtyard. How was he ever going to find Robb?

“We should split up,” Jojen murmured. “We need to find Father and have him send word to our men in the Marshes. If it comes to a fight, they will be needed.”

Jon wasn’t listening. His eyes were drawn to a wooden stage adorned with the grey and white Stark colors and with the Stark direwolf flapping in the wind. A man and a woman reclined at table there, observing the festivities. 

On the man’s brow, a bronze and iron crown rested above a long face which, even with the distance, Jon could tell bore a slight resemblance to his own. He knew in an instance that the man was his uncle, Eddard Stark, King in the North. The woman, with a delicate bronze crown nestled in her bright red hair, was undoubtably his wife, Queen Catelyn.

None of their children were near them, much to Jon’s disappointment. Neither the king nor the queen had any reason to trust his word. If he approached them without Robb or Arya, he might cause a scene and cause his stepfather and the others to attack sooner to catch them unaware.

Every second that passed, though, was a second closer to the under-handed attack.

Deciding that he couldn’t wait, he approached the royal couple from the front, well away from the steps to that would allow him to climb onto the wooden dais with them so as not to appear a threat.

“Your graces,” he said in a low voice as he dropped to his knee before them. He knew it was a mistake a moment after he did, as his knees trembled with the exertion needed to stay in the position. Pushing that aside, though, he raised his head to give his uncle and aunt a serious look. “You are in grave danger. Bolton and Lefford men have hidden themselves among Lord Tarly’s men. They plan to attack Winterfell from within its walls.”

King Eddard’s eyes snapped up to scan the crowd, a deep frown on his face as he took in the masked faces. “You are sure?” he asked, eyes returning to Jon. 

Jon nodded. “They are here, your grace. There is no time to lose.”

“What is your name? How did you come by this knowledge?” Queen Catelyn demanded, keeping her voice low so as to not cause a stir.

“My name is Jon Snow,” he replied, lowering his eyes, which caused him to miss the sudden recognition in their eyes at his assumed name. “I have been a captive at Horn Hill for the past three weeks.”

“Jory,” the king called over his shoulder for one of his men. “Find Robb and send him to me. Then gather the men and prepare for an attack from within,” he ordered when the man had come. “And be as quick as you can.”

Jon’s heart skipped a beat at Robb’s name, and he almost didn’t hear his uncle telling him to rise and approach. He tried to heave himself to his feet, but his limbs failed him. His knees buckled as soon as he tried to shift his weight to both feet. He threw his arms out to catch himself, face flushing with shame as his weak arms barely saved his face from the dirt.

Soft hands were helping him to sit upright a minute later, and he was shocked to look up to see the queen’s concerned face above him. “You were not treated kindly during your captivity,” she seethed. “Bolton will pay for that.”

Jon was shocked at her vehemence but was unable to question it as he spied a familiar figure approaching the dais over her shoulder. The mask he wore did nothing to hide the all-too-recognizable auburn curls and bright blue eyes.

“Robb,” he breathed, forgetting about the queen’s presence in that moment.

His betrothed frowned at his mother kneeling over someone, but was distracted by his father before he could see Jon. Not that Robb would recognize him, Jon thought. In the mask and with his lank curls and much thinner body, he was sure Robb wouldn’t know him.

“Take our guest inside to the Great Hall and wait for me,” Ned told Robb, who looked alarmed by the command but nodded in determination.

Robb was at Jon’s side a moment later, pulling him up on shaky legs as he scanned the courtyard with watchful eyes, barely glancing at Jon as he led him inside the castle. For his part, Jon tried not to lean too heavily on the prince, not wanting him to know just how bad a state he was in once he revealed his identity.

Robb didn’t look at him properly until they were in the Great Hall and he was helping Jon ease down into a seat. The prince froze as his blue eyes locked with Jon’s before he raised a shaking hand to carefully push up the bright red mask.

“Jon,” he whispered, tears filling his eyes as both hands came up to frame Jon’s face. “You’re here. You came back to me.”

“I promised I would,” Jon replied, voice thick with his own tears as he savored the feeling of Robb’s touch.

“Yes, you did,” Robb said, huffing a laugh through his tears. Jon didn’t resist when the prince pulled him into his arms, leaving them both kneeling on the stone floor and not caring one bit. 

Jon melted into the embrace, clutching desperately at Robb. After all the fear and despair of the past three weeks, he needed the certainty of Robb’s arms around him, Robb’s chest rising and falling with breath against his own, the warmth of Robb’s body beneath his hands.

No matter what happened now, he could face it. Even if Winterfell was overrun by Tarly, Bolton, and Lefford. As long as he shared in the same fate as Robb, he could bear it all.

As long as Robb was at his side.

tbc…


	13. Chapter Twelve

As soon as his father told him to go to the Great Hall, Robb was on instant alert. Ever since the Boltons had planned to attack them while guests at Sansa’s name-day celebration, they had made arrangements for if such an attack was ever attempted again. Despite hoping that such a circumstance would never arise again, the household was to retreat to a defensible location within Winterfell.

Before the Semheim festival began, his father and his advisors had decided that the Great Hall would be that place, as it would be far enough removed from the festival to be safe and it was an easy enough place to fit everyone in.

He barely glanced at the guest his father had told him to escort inside. He had the slightly sunken look of someone who had recently been held captive without much food. Robb assumed that he had been the one to warn his father of an attack, and he was far more interested in examining their surroundings and making sure that warning wasn’t wasted to look to closely at the other man.

It wasn’t until he had met those familiar dark eyes that he realized who was before him.

And when he held Jon in his arms, he wanted to weep at how thin his betrothed had become in just a few weeks. Gods, what had they done to him?

They weren’t alone for long, with members of their household and trusted bannermen slowly trickling in. Robb had maneuvered Jon to sit on a bench, but he still kept his arms firmly around him. He received a few curious glances, but no one dared question him about the identity of the man in his arms.

They didn’t have to ask to find out, though, as it wasn’t long before Arya was striding into the Great Hall and exclaimed his name for all to hear. “ _Jon!_ ”

That definitely garnered a few more second glances, as there wasn’t a person in the North that didn’t know the story of Jon Targaryen and Robb was sure that the men who had actually met Jon would have spread the word.

Robb reluctantly let go of Jon when Arya threw her arms around him.

“Why’d you leave, stupid?” Arya said with no heat in her voice as she held onto him tightly. She pulled away to pout at him. “Robb said it was to protect us but that left no one around to protect _you_. We’re _wolves_ , Jon,” she told him seriously. “The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

“Something I said finally sunk into my stubborn daughter’s head, I see,” his father’s voice behind him surprised them all. 

Jon made a move as if to stand, but Robb interrupted his attempt by standing himself and putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder to keep him in place. He wasn’t going to have Jon passing out in exhaustion in the name of propriety. 

“Father, what’s happening?” he asked, noting with relief that his mother was behind him with Rickon and Sansa. Where was Bran though?

“The guards are moving through the courtyard now. We don’t think our would-be attackers have realized that only they and the guards remain in the main courtyard,” Kind Eddard replied. “The festivities in the outer-courtyard are problematic, but no doubt the leaders of the attack were targeting us in the main courtyard. They’ll be rounded up quickly and that will hopefully prevent their followers from doing anything drastic.”

Robb nodded, relieved that their precautions had worked out so well. The masks they all wore had probably worked to their advantage as well.

“It is lucky that we had warning,” his mother stated, giving Jon a warm smile. “If Jon hadn’t escaped and got word to us, I am not sure things would have gone as smoothly.”

Jon looked surprised at being acknowledged by the queen. “I only did what was right, your grace,” he said softly. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try.”

Before either of his parents could say anything in reply to that, Jory found them and informed them that they had rounded up their enemies in the courtyard.

His father nodded. “Robb, with me.”

Robb didn’t particularly want to leave Jon, but he knew he also needed to ensure that the men who had kept his betrothed captive for the past three weeks were well and truly secure. He squeezed Jon’s shoulder and gave him a smile, wanting nothing more than to kiss him before leaving but knowing such a thing would be scandalous. “I’ll be back.”

Jon gave him a nod, and he turned away to quickly follow his father, knowing that if he put it off another second, he would never leave. He spied Dacey Mormont standing with Asha Greyjoy out of the corner of his eye, and gave her a meaningful look. She nodded and nudged Asha towards where Jon sat with the rest of his family.

He felt much more at ease leaving knowing that there would be skilled fighters around Jon who knew his full importance.

There weren’t as many captives in the courtyard as Robb had expected. There were maybe two scores of men there. Possibly more, but no more than three. They were obviously counting on surprise to win the day.

Four men had been singled out and made to kneel in the middle of the courtyard surrounded by his father’s men.

Robb instantly recognized Lord Bolton, those pale eyes not ones he would likely ever forget. The younger man next to him wearing his sigil had to be his son. Robb couldn’t help glaring at him, blood boiling knowing that he might have been the one planning to force Jon into marriage and all that came with it.

The remaining two were strangers to him. The younger bore the sigil of Horn Hill, but was obviously not Lord Tarly. If Robb were to guess, he would say that he was likely Lord Tarly’s son. The older was likely Lord Lefford himself, if his sigil was any indication.

Robb misliked the fact that there were so few men there and Lord Tarly was nowhere to be found. He could tell his father shared his sentiments.

“Is this all of them?” Ned asked Jory in a low voice. “Lord Tarly was at the festival earlier.”

“There’s been no sign of him, your grace,” he replied. “He may have slipped out before we were warned. The guards weren’t checking the identities of those that left the main courtyard.”

“What about the ones that went inside the Great Hall?” Robb asked urgently.

“Only northerners knew the codeword and would have known to discreetly move there,” Jory assured him. “My uncle is going through them now to make sure no enemy man has infiltrated them.”

Robb was suddenly very grateful Dacey and Asha were watching over Jon. Whatever Bolton, Tarly, and Lefford had had planned for Jon, they weren’t going to get a second-chance to take him captive.

Eddard frowned. “Take the captives to the dungeons. Make sure their leaders are isolated and—”

He was cut off by a guard rushing in from the outer courtyard. “Your grace,” the man cried urgently, going down to a knee as he rushed to deliver his news. “We are under siege! An army nearly ten thousand strong are at our southern and eastern gates already, and are advancing to the north!”

“They mean to surround us,” Robb surmised, giving his father a worried look.

“They’ll steer clear of the Marshes to our west,” he said confidently. “And a siege from three sides is hardly effective. Besides, we have hostages.”

A fact which their enemy should have been well-aware of. Robb felt a sense of foreboding run down his spine. If they were willing to move against Winterfell despite their hostages, what did they know that the Starks did not?

 

#

 

Jon had jinxed himself. He had said that he could endure whatever came next as long as Robb was at his side. Of _course_ Robb would have to leave his side the moment after such a thing had crossed Jon’s mind.

He watched Robb follow his father with as stoic an expression as he could muster. He knew that, as Crown Prince of Winterfell, Robb had responsibilities that necessitated him being with his father right now. If he were stronger, Jon would ask to go with him and stay by his side. He wasn’t, after all, a defenseless maid that needed to stay behind stone walls safe and sound.

But he knew that he wasn’t strong right now. He was weak from his captivity and exhausted from his desperate flight to Winterfell. He couldn’t lift a sword to save his life right now.

“Your highness,” a woman he did not know greeted him as she dropped down in the seat Robb had vacated. She had short dark hair and a sharp smile on her thin face as she looked at him. “Or are we all still pretending that we don’t know who you are?”

“Quiet, Asha,” the more familiar voice of Dacey Mormont snapped as she settled next to Arya, shooting the younger girl a wink. 

“I know who you are!” the young boy who had been standing next to Queen Catelyn exclaimed, shooting away from his mother’s skirts only to skid to a stop in front of Jon. He couldn’t have been more than five years old. Jon was sure that this was Robb’s youngest brother, Rickon. “You’re Prince Jon! You’re our cousin and Robb’s going to marry you!”

Jon was taken aback by the outburst. He looked up slowly to see that, while Dacey, Asha, and the other Starks seemed various degrees of displeased by Rickon’s words, none of them looked particularly surprised.

“You know?” he breathed, heart beating quickly. How did they know? How did _everyone_ seem to know? This meant that Robb surely knew. Was he upset that Jon had lied to him?

Asha answered before anyone else could. “You do realize you look just like your mother, right? Kid calling himself Jon _Snow_ of all things, who just happens to look like an exiled princess with a son called Jon about the same age? Not sure how anyone ever put it together,” she said sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

“I figured it out first!” Arya chimed in with a proud look on her face. Jon blinked at her, still not understanding. Had they known the whole time? Had _Robb_ known the whole time? “As soon as you told your name by the heart tree, I knew. Robb told me to keep my mouth shut because it should be your choice to tell us or not, but I _knew_.”

That answered his question about Robb knowing. He felt a surge of affection for the other man as he realized he had wanted to respect Jon’s decisions. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, princess,” a bone-chillingly familiar voice said, pushing his way through the press of people. Ramsay smiled brightly at Jon as he tightened his arm around a boy around Arya’s age and pressed a dagger to his neck.

“Bran!” the queen cried almost involuntarily, and Jon realized with a sick sensation that Ramsay held Robb’s other brother in his grip. 

“Back away!” Ramsay snarled at the guards inching forward, pressing the blade closer to Bran’s throat. “You see, Lord Tarly was the one who figured it out first,” he continued more pleasantly. “And he graciously approached the Lannisters with his knowledge, and we all hatched out a deal. Unfortunately, it seems like my father’s portion just fell through, but I’d still like my prize.”

tbc…


End file.
